


The Path I Started

by JayEz



Series: Road To War [1]
Category: Avengers: Age of Ultron - Fandom, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Advanced Idea Mechanics, Angst, Avengers vs. Media, Avengers: Age of Ultron Spoilers, Dark-ish, Fix-It, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pietro Maximoff Lives, Publicity, Self-Destruction, Slow Build, Tony Angst, Tony Feels, Tony-centric, as in "glacial", author has been emotionally compromised by the movie, eventual slash, now beta'd!, post Age of Ultron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony rebuilds, modifies. Takes fragments and gives them new order. He does not create. He can’t, not anymore. Not after this. </p><p>Or: After the events of Ultron, Tony rebuilds the tower by himself and shuts everything out to the point that Pepper takes desperate measures and asks Steve to come and help.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rebuilding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The credits finished and this happened. I am not sorry, just emotionally compromised.
> 
> Also, this is my first ever Avengers fic. Before today I was too afraid I’d screw it up, and now my Muse just needs to get this out…
> 
> EDIT 18-06-2015: I have found a wonderful beta in [brittbritt1997](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brittbritt1997/pseuds/brittbritt1997) who is taking it upon herself to weed out all mistakes in part I as well as beta part II before I post its chapters. So soon this story will be completely beta'd, yay! Thank you so much, Bri!  
> 

“Sir, are you alright?”

Tony blinks, his vision clearing slightly. He is staring at the window – not out of it, _at_ it. He can make out grains of dust, obscuring the view of New York. 

“Sir?”

The female voice sounds wrong. He fought side by side with Friday, but in the familiar contours of Avengers Tower, she is an alien. 

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony blinks again. Turns his head. The floor is in shambles. It looks even worse than he remembers it looking after… After. 

He walks to the nearest pile of metal and wires. The building might be broken, but he can fix it. Rebuild it. There is nothing else for him to do. 

*

Tony begins with the entertainment floor, hoping happier memories will return to the silent corners. Gets his tool kit from the workshop, pulls up the blueprints from the back-up drives, hidden in the safe not even Pepper knows about. 

_Pepper._ Who called when he was at the new Avengers’ base, to check in. She has a company. Tony wasn’t lying at the party – she really couldn’t come. Yet if she had, she wouldn’t have stayed. He knows Thor and Jane talk frequently; the god’s smile was always brighter afterward. They made it work, the whole dating-a-superhero shebang. 

He and Pepper didn’t. 

Tony picks up the wrench. 

*

On the third day, he deletes Friday. 

Tony rebuilds, modifies. Takes fragments and gives them new order. He does not create. He can’t, not anymore. Not after Ultron. 

“Hello, sir.”

The voice is the same, but the program is not. He calls it Jarvis Junior, J.J. for short. 

Tony tried to install another vocal pattern, he honestly did, but every result made his skin crawl, reminded him of all that’s changed and just this, this small thing could remain. Tony clings to it with all his might. 

*

He works and sleeps and calls Pepper once a week. Cap emails if they need anything upstate, calls once and goes on and on about training and movie night and how Tony should join them. He’s busy. 

Tony works and sleeps and works some more until he can’t lift his arms anymore, then finds a flat surface to catch a couple of hours of reprieve. He doesn’t shower until he simply can’t scratch that itch anymore, then steps into the spray and turns the water as hot as he can stand. He has J.J. order food when he gets dizzy. 

Any necessary parts can be ordered and delivered. Ultron tried, but he failed and humanity’s still here, and Tony doesn’t even have to leave the Tower.

He works and sleeps and rebuilds the entertainment floor, then moves on to the first part of the lab. 

Bruce’s ghost haunts them. The echoes of his warnings have seeped into the foundations. Tony’s feet burn when he steps on it. 

He works and sleeps and climbs down to the second floor of the lab, cutting himself on shattered glass and scrap metal. 

It’s a hollow space, or maybe Tony is just projecting the feeling of his chest onto the room. 

He feels the absence of his arc reactor more than ever. Maybe with it, he wouldn’t have strayed this far this fast. Maybe Pepper would have stayed. Maybe removing his biggest bodily flaw was just like removing the head of a hydra, with many, many more following in its wake. 

*

Tony works and sleeps and never sleeps deep enough to dream until one day his body betrays him, throwing him into the depths of REM without a way out. 

He wakes drenched in sweat, his pulse racing. 

The next time his arms refuse to lay one more relay, he is prepared. He drowns himself in a whiskey tumbler until the alcohol comes out of his pores and he passes out on a workbench. 

When he wakes this time, his entire body hurts, but he did not have to relive seeing his teammates dead, Cap’s dimming eyes so full of reproach. 

He orders the good stuff by the crates. 

*

At the new base, Clint arrives, presumably to help with training. The next generation is shaping up well. Tony watches the CCTV feed on his tablet as he stabs a falafel with his fork. 

“Sir, the components for the laboratory floor have arrived.”

“Send ‘em up, J.J.,” Tony tells the virtual assistant, putting his fork down and walking to the freight elevator where the delivery men left the parts. 

*

Rebuilding poses its own challenges. 

Tony takes fragments, entire subroutines he has memorized, piecing together an operating system like a jigsaw puzzle, different from anything he has ever done and still merely more of the same. 

The code flows, fast and unrelenting once Tony’s brain has figured out how to solve this. Yet every few lines of code, Tony’s hands freeze. Is he doing this right? Will the program run like he intends? Is there a chance it might mutate, learn, evolve? 

He triple-checks the algorithms, then checks them again, has J.J. run simulations until his head is spinning and ends up integrating an entire sub-level of coding as a fail-safe. 

The lab sparkles, clean and empty and cold, in the light of the computer screens as the refurbished system boots up. 

He sends it to the IT-department. Stark Software is not the most secure it can be. 

While they check it and modify other components to pave the way for a company and even production-wide update, Tony moves on to the communal floor. 

*

“Sir, Mrs. Potts is here to see you.”

Tony’s grip on the wrench slips, and he curses as it falls, hitting his foot and sending a sharp spike of pain up his body. “How mad does she look?”

“Mildly, sir. I would rather characterize her expression as ‘worried’.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s so much better,” Tony grumbles and jumps down from the ladder. “Send her up. How do I look?”

He asks because he genuinely has no idea. When was the last time he showered? Food… happened. At some point. He’s quite certain of it. He runs a hand over his face and startles when he feels the stubble covering his jaw. Five days? Six? Something like that. 

“Oh, Tony…”

Pepper is there. In the communal living room. She looks radiant, all in white, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, heels sharp and currently resting on the hardwood Tony installed yesterday. Or the day before that?

“Drink?” he offers, gesturing with a hand. He quickly hides it behind his back because it is literally stained black from grime and grease. His left one doesn’t look much better either. 

“Tony,” she says again. He knows that tone, is all too familiar with it. 

“Pepper.”

“Tony, you built an entire new operating system and-”

His right hand snaps forward again, held in mid-air to stop whatever she was about to say next. 

“I _rebuilt_ it. Was shot to bits, Ultron really did a number on it. Some things are different now. Nothing our tech support can’t handle.”

Pepper is quiet for a moment. Tony does not meet her eyes. 

“When was the last time you showered?”

He gives a half-shrug. 

“Ate?”

“There was food. Ask J.J., he’ll tell you.”

“J.J.?”

“Jarvis Junior.”

The lines around Pepper’s eyes soften, and her shoulders slump a little. She knows him too well. He wants to take the blowtorch and augment the building’s structure if only so he can hide behind the face guard. 

“Get into the shower, and I’ll get us some dinner.”

“Can’t. Gotta finish this.” He points at the hole in the wall to his right, pipes protruding from the concrete and steel where one of Ultron’s robots collided with it. Or maybe it was Thor. 

Pepper crosses her arms in front of her chest, her back rigid in a way Tony has only rarely seen on her before. If they had seen each other more often in the past, maybe he could interpret it better. 

“Tony, what day is it?”

He draws a blank. He hasn’t looked at a calendar since he started rebuilding the tower. He’s done three and a half floors so far… so a week per floor? Maybe add some extra for the time he wasn’t really doing anything except stare at the window. 

“What month?” 

Tony swallows. He needs some water, his mouth is dry. 

“June,” he settles on, tone firm. He himself even believes it. It was the end of May when he left Steve to his merry band of shinier playmates. 

Pepper’s face does something complicated he can’t pin down. “It’s September.”

 _Oh._ Wait, did it really take him this long to revise the operating system? Or rebuild the lab?

Well, that’s okay. It’s not like he’s got to be anywhere. If Cap needs him to fix some tech his own folks can’t save or some more money for something or other, he’ll make a quick call. Or e-mail. Cap does that now. Pepper’s got the company firmly in hand. The Thai place round the corner delivers for a big enough tip. And when he runs out of clean shirts, J.J. knows how to operate a washing machine. 

So all Tony does is shrug. “Have fun at the next shareholders’ meeting,” he tells her with less inflection than he aimed for, then picks up the wrench again. 

Moments later, the sound of clicking heels tells him Pepper left. He works. 

*

He works and sleeps and works some more, thinking of nothing but what’s right in front of him. At some point, he’ll run out of rooms to rebuild. 

The thought terrifies him. For the first time, booze is not enough, and he dreams again, of paths that end on a cliff or a cave that crumbles all around him. 

But is it the path he started the world on that leads to destruction, or is that just the case because _he_ is on it? Is it both? Should Tony continue to build? If yes, how can he make sure it will be safe? 

“Sir, are you alright?”

The voice is right. Everything is different, but at least the voice is still the same. Tony clings to that with all his might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Would love to hear your thoughts on this! You can also hit me up on [tumblr](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/).


	2. Restructuring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the warm welcome! I guess I should have started writing Avengers fics sooner :) 
> 
> For those who are interested: I have posted a [review of AoU](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/post/117412774014/nothing-lasts-forever-or-why-age-of-ultron) on tumblr.

Natasha hands him a tablet, her face not betraying any hint of what the blinking dots on the map mean. 

“Mongolia?” Steve asks once he has oriented himself and found the matching section on the bigger display on the wall in front of them. 

“Mongolia,” Nat confirms, shifting her weight slightly from one foot to the other.

“What’s he doing there?”

“Our intel is inconclusive, though knowing him, he’s already gone by now.”

Steve fails to stifle a sigh. “Well, it’s something.”

Nat’s eyes dart over to his right where an entire wall is littered with ‘somethings’. Rumors, blurry photos, satellite footage, whispers from foreign intelligence, traces they found themselves… The situation room is filled with bits and pieces, yet Bucky continues to elude them. 

Sam and Steve started the search together after SHIELD imploded until Steve joined forces with the Avengers again in order to find the scepter. Since then, the project has grown into warranting its own office at the new Avengers’ base. 

The outside wall is actually one enormous floor-to-ceiling window, the other three either covered in monitors or cork boards, with documents and pictures spilling onto the large desk in the middle of the room. 

_Whoosh._

Steve spins around towards the window, dropping into a defensive stance out of reflex. He can see Nat doing the same out of the corner of his eye.

_Whoosh._

Steve relaxes with a groan as recognition strikes. “Really?” 

Natasha just smirks and gazes after him as he jogs out of the room. 

*

When Sam and Rhodey land, the former annoyed, the latter smug; Steve is waiting for them with his arms crossed in front of his chest and his expression twisted into a scowl. 

“What was that?”

At least Sam has the decency to look sheepish. “We wanted to know who’s faster. Nothing wrong with a little healthy competition to boost morale, right?”

“You should be saving your energy. We’ve got a drill scheduled this afternoon, and if I recall, I took both of you down last time.”

“You’re no fun,” Rhodey tells him, yet any indignation in his voice is decidedly fake. 

“No worries, brother, we’ll be in top form today,” Sam promises, then extends his wings and turns to his teammate. “Last one on the helipad does the dishes tonight!”

Sam takes off with a whooping cheer, leaving Rhodey behind to scoff before his faceplate closes and War Machine is in pursuit. 

Steve shakes his head at the two of them, though once they are both out of sight, he allows his scowl to give way to a smile. 

Over the past few months, they have grown into a team, and it shows. It took them a while to get there – Wanda was still more hurt and angry than anything else, Nat subdued, and Sam too intimidated by his new status as an Avenger to be his usual, confident self. Rhodey was so used to flying solo that he often clashed with Falcon as well as with Wanda once she had taught herself to fly. Only Vision seemed to transition effortlessly, but he was ‘even nicer than Steve’ (Nat’s words, not his) and amazing at calculating possible moves of his teammates, which made him an invaluable asset in any fight. 

Yet somewhere along the way, between team dinners that Vision attends even though he has no use for food, grueling exercises, marksmanship training with Clint who brings pictures of his youngest, and chaotic video nights that always end with people throwing popcorn at each other; their unique band of superheroes has become a unified whole. 

Steve still misses the others. Even Tony, but he keeps in contact. It’s mostly to ask for equipment or pass on a message from the tech department if they think Tony will just laugh at them for failing, and who could possibly say no to Captain America? Alright, most of their conversations are about official business, but they do talk as well. Just two weeks ago Tony explained what he was doing with the lab (not that Steve was able to follow most of it). 

Well… Maybe Steve should make a better effort. Without Tony’s money and technical prowess, the Avenger initiative would be in serious trouble, and the base here in upstate New York is perfect: state of the art equipment and facilities, enough room for all employees and more recruits which they have been acquiring after their defeat of Ultron in an attempt to rebuild SHIELD as best as they can. Here they can practice maneuvers, Wanda can explore her powers ( _Magic_ , Sam insists and Steve secretly agrees), and Natasha can sometimes curl up in a chair in the communal area with a blanket and a book while Steve sits at a window and draws Sam and Rhodey teaching Vision how to “Go Fish.” 

It’s chaotic and structured at the same time; the stress levels high, and their first covert mission two weeks ago to take down the remnants of a Hydra subchapter their intelligence had discovered in Belarus had been a full success. The base has begun to feel like home. 

Sam once asked him what made him happy, and Steve has finally accepted the answer. 

*

A few hours and several bruises later, they are all seated at the kitchen table eating curry that Sam cooked up. It’s good, but it doesn’t compare to Bruce’s creations. Steve meets Nat’s eyes across the table and sees the same thought flicker across her mind. 

“What about Tango and Cash? That’s a classic!”

“Man, you’re so delusional, there ain’t nothing classic about Tango and Cash!”

“You suggest a movie then, Pigeon,” Rhodey taunts good-naturedly but Sam still levels a glare at him for it. 

“If we’re talking trashy eighties action flicks, we gotta start with Die Hard. We’ve got a limited window here, man – Wanda won’t want to watch more if you bore her with Stallone.”

The intercom rings, so Steve leaves his fellow Avengers to their bickering and accepts Hill’s call over at the pad next to the nearest door. Hill’s expression betrays the barest hint of confusion as she tells him that Pepper Potts just landed with her helicopter and wants to speak to him. 

Brows furrowing, Steve meets the woman in the hall where he kisses her cheek even though his shoulders stiffen when he takes in the worried lines of her face. 

“Ms. Potts, how can I help you?”

“It’s Pepper, Steve,” she reminds him like every time he slips back into old habits. “And I…” She hesitates, which worries him more than the surprise nature of her visit. Steve has never seen this woman lost for words. “When was the last time you spoke with Tony?”

“Uh, two weeks ago,” he replies honestly. “Why?”

“How did he sound?” 

“A bit tired, said he’d been working a lot. But he promised me he’d order dinner and go straight to bed.”

“And you believed him?”

Steve looks at her, really looks – the lines around her mouth and eyes are tight, the knuckles of her right hand have whitened from gripping her phone too hard. “Why are you asking me this?”

A beat. “I’m worried about him.”

Now Steve is even more confused. “But you’re his dame – I mean… You know him better than I ever would.”

At that, her eyes widen. “He didn’t - ?” She stops herself, eyes growing distant as if she is lost in thought for just a moment, muttering something that sounds like “Of course he didn’t” under her breath. Then her focus returns, and she squares her shoulders as she meets his gaze. “Steve, Tony and I haven’t been together since before Ultron. He really didn’t say?”

“It’s beginning to dawn on me just how big our communication problems were,” Steve comments dryly and just a little hurt, his thoughts on a particular farm that by now houses three little children. 

“Well, I’m not his _dame_ anymore,” Pepper clarifies with a twitch of her lips. “Which doesn’t mean I’m not worried.”

“About Tony?”

She nods gravely. “I’ve seen him in a lot of bad states but this… I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what happened with Ultron. I don’t know what Tony needs.”

“And you think I do?”

“You were with him, you fought with him, Steve. I’m just the CEO of his company.”

“You’re more than that,” Steve protests, though she silences him with a motion of her hand that is not clutching her phone. 

“I’m still his friend, which is why I came to you.”

Steve takes a moment to process, then asks, “What do you want me to do?”

She gives him a grateful smile, tense enough to look more like a grimace. “Drop by, see for yourself what’s going on, and maybe you’ll think of a way to fix this. You’re the only one I could think of that’s both capable and here.”

Her expression darkens and Steve muses she is probably thinking about a certain scientist currently MIA god-knows-where. 

Steve might not be Tony’s superior anymore, but they are still brothers in arms and Steve will never leave a comrade hanging. So he nods, promising Pepper he will drive down first thing tomorrow and see what he can do. 

She is the one to kiss him on the cheek this time before she walks back to the helicopter waiting on the helipad. 

Steve gazes after her, a sense of unease creeping over him. 

*

Tony steps back from the wall, dropping the screwdriver to the floor where it lands with a _clonk_. 

The hole is closed, transformed into a docking station because filling the nook would have consumed more material and besides, who doesn’t need to recharge his phone while doing social things like watching TV or playing scrabble? You know, in case anyone ever actually uses the communal floor again. 

Tony’s vision clears gradually, widens at the edges. Loud heavy metal is coming from the speaker system that Tony can’t actually remember turning on and shouldn’t that be grounds for worry?

He draws in the first deep breath in what feels like months. And it’s been months, hasn’t it? September, Pepper said. It feels too abstract, somehow. 

“J.J., give me the time and date.” 

“It is September eighth, one-thirty AM.” 

September eighth. Tony thanks whatever flash of genius had him automate his birthday card process years ago, so he won’t have to worry about having alienated any important shareholders and thus incurred Pepper’s wrath. 

Tony picks up the screwdriver he just dropped in order to put it back into the toolbox, yet when he straightens up, his head starts spinning, dark spots appearing in front of his retinas. 

“When was the last time I ate?” he asks as soon as the world doesn’t feel like it’s tilting on its axis anymore. 

“Nineteen hours and twenty-two minutes previously, sir. May I advise ordering in?”

“Yeah, yeah, probably a good idea. _Shit_ ,” he adds for good measure, finally taking a closer look at his hands. 

They are dirty, yes, and that’s good, proving that he’s done stuff, but what’s less good are the small cuts he detects underneath the layer of dust and concrete and paint, dried blood leaving dark splotches on his skin where it mixed with everything else. 

Nothing hurts, however. Tony feels apart from reality somehow, disconnected from his body. He has enough presence of mind now to know that Pepper leaving like she did doesn’t bode well. She’s a woman of action and there will be repercussions of some sort or another and if Tony doesn’t show her that he’s fine (by her definition of her word), he won’t like the consequences.

So he eats whatever J.J. ordered for him, showers, bandages the deeper cuts on his hands, arms, and torso, then goes to bed…

… where he lies awake for an hour, tossing and turning and not growing tired. His thoughts wander to the half-empty bottle of scotch in the kitchen, then calculates the likelihood of Pepper reacting to finding him hung-over tomorrow in a negative fashion. Well, you don’t need to be a genius to conclude that’s a recipe for disaster. 

Tony needs to sleep, though, if he wants to look any better tomorrow for whatever’s coming. Without looking at his reflection, he wanders into the bathroom where a still-closed bottle of sleeping pills is hiding for emergencies, left over from a time of nightmares followed by CEO duties the next morning. 

He dry-swallows two pills, then pulls the blanket over his head. 

*

Steve doesn’t know what to expect when he mounts his motorcycle the following morning and sets out southward to Avengers Tower. 

He left Natasha in charge for however long it will take him to… well, do whatever awaits him. Steve has always been quick on his feet, so he remains optimistic that he will be able to handle whatever Tony throws at him. 

Or that is the case until he actually lays eyes on Tony Stark for the first time since parting ways at the new base at the end of May. 

Tony is a mess, there’s no other word for it. Pale, skin less clean and body thinner than Steve remembers, but at the same time his shoulders and arms are stronger where they aren’t covered by the black wife beater, presumably from doing all the repairs himself. His dark brown hair, usually distractingly shiny and soft looking, now is dull and matted. The layer of dust and grime coating his arms does little to hide the scrapes and bandages, a testament to exactly how hard Tony has been working himself. 

Yet the most chilling aspect of the sight that is Tony Stark at the moment are his eyes. Steve has seen them dance with mischief, alight with passion and saddened by grief. He has seen them twisted in anger and scowling in opposition – the latter mostly directed at Steve himself. But he has never, ever seen them void of anything – until now. 

Tony’s smile seems false without his eyes to add something, anything, and Steve realizes what Pepper meant when she said she had never seen the youngest Stark like this. 

“Cap! Come on in, that elevator can’t be that comfortable, even by 1930s standards,” Tony greets him and waves him inside with a gesture. “What brings you to my humble establishment, thou leader of all those who avenge? ‘Cos if you’re here to ask nicely for a bigger and fully automated coffee maker which you know you want but have denounced as unnecessarily luxurious in the past – and don’t pretend you didn’t, I heard you that time in the kitchen with Bruce – then I’ll have to say I’m touched by your manners, even though they wouldn’t have been necessary, you see –”

“I’m not here for a new coffee maker,” is the first thing Steve says because knowing Tony, the man would have continued until he was either out of things to say (unlikely) or until he passed out from lack of oxygen. 

“Really? I could’ve sworn Rhodey’s last email mentioned something about too many people using the same –”

“I’m not here for a coffee maker,” Steve repeats, then immediately continues before Tony can do as much as draw enough breath to babble on. “I’m here for _you_.”

Tony blinks. It might have been funny if his surprise didn’t remind Steve that he, as the leader of the Avengers, should have checked on Tony in person a lot sooner. 

Then Tony’s eyes widen and for the first time betray some form of emotion, though it is hard to pin down which. Confusion, maybe; or anger, or annoyance, or a mix thereof. 

“Did Pepper send you?”

Steve considers lying, then opts against it. More lies and half-truths are the last thing the Avengers need right now. “She’s worried.”

“Of course she’s worried,” Tony replies dismissively, picking up a bottle of water from next to a large toolbox. “Worrying about me’s her default setting; has been her default setting for a lot of years, actually. Doesn’t mean Captain America’s gotta abandon his new friends to check on the guy who fucked up last time.”

His tone is light, flippant, but Steve has been around Tony long enough to recognize a defense mechanism when one is directed at him. 

“We fixed it, Tony; it’s not ‘fucked up’ anymore.”

“Well, my tower’s still a bit banged up, so thanks for stopping by, really means a lot to me, but I’m fine, see?” He turns on the spot with the open water bottle still in hand, spilling a few drops as he twirls dramatically. “Still got all limbs, I’m sober and on a constructive roll here, so let’s do both of us a favor and let me finish this floor, alright? Alright! Great talk, Cap.”

With that he seals the bottle, sets it down, and walks off into the last unfinished corner of the room where rubble and cable fragments are covering the floor and most of the wall’s surface has been destroyed by something colliding with it. 

He watches Tony turn on some sort of machine which he then applies to the stripped wall. Steve’s knowledge of construction is minimal, though it looks like Tony is preparing the damaged surface for whatever he plans on doing to restore it, all while effectively ignoring Steve, who is trying to come up with a suitable reaction. 

He might be good on his feet in combat situations and when it comes to change tactics mid-battle, but Tony’s state of mind is not a minefield for him to navigate. Plus, the man made it pretty clear he is done talking, and besides – judging from that monologue, Tony’s not really himself right now, so anything Steve might come up with probably wouldn’t be processed properly. 

Coming to a decision on how to proceed, Steve sets down his duffle bag, removes his leather jacket, button down and long sleeve until all that remains is his short-sleeved SHIELD-issued t-shirt. He disappears into the nearest bathroom to exchange his leather motorbike pants for a pair of old jeans, then tries to recall where the nearest kitchen or pantry is. 

“Can I be of service, Captain Rogers?”

The voice startles him and Steve looks around to see why Vision would have followed him, but his teammate is nowhere in sight. 

“Jarvis?” he tries tentatively, glancing at the ceiling. Yes, he knows Jarvis isn’t in the ceiling, Tony explained that often enough, but he simply has to look somewhere. 

“I am Jarvis Junior, though sir refers to me as J.J. How may I help you?”

“Uh, just looking for more water to take back to Tony.”

“Please consult the last door on the right, just before the stairs.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Hearing the voice is eerie to say the least. It dawns on Steve that he hasn’t even scratched the surface of what is up with Tony. 

When he finds the man again, he is just setting down the device and dusting off his clothes. Tony startles when he hears Steve’s footsteps, and his eyes quickly take in Steve’s appearance before narrowing in what looks like suspicion. 

“Why’re you still here?”

“Might as well help,” Steve answers with what he hopes to be a casual shrug. “This the last room?”

“On this floor,” Tony says slowly, eyebrows raised. 

“Alright. Where do you want this rubble to go?” Steve points to the already separated piles in the middle of the room. 

Silence stretches between them for a few seconds as Tony apparently calculates which reaction on his part will evoke which result. His body is tense, his stance defensive. They used to get along so well – where did that camaraderie go? 

Eventually, Tony nods, obviously coming to a decision. “There’re some bags over there,” he explains with a wave of his hand. “Just leave them by the elevator, I’m paying people to dispose of them.”

“Alright,” is all Steve replies before he goes in search of the bags. 

*

Tony ignores him for the better part of the day after that. He complies when Steve tells him they’re ordering in and that he has to eat as well, and he explains to Steve what needs to be done on the floor below before Tony can start rebuilding what was damaged so that Steve can get started down there; yet other than that, the genius remains closed off. 

Thing is, Steve has seen Tony on a programming or building binge, even in this very tower. It always happened in his workshop, and it always required outside intervention when it came to things like food or personal hygiene (a task which usually fell to Bruce), but it never lasted more than a week. 

This, though, has been going on for months if Steve’s guess is correct. Tony probably hasn’t left the tower in just as many weeks – good thing the press has been busy dissecting the whole Ultron story, then a scandal involving Wilson Fisk, and then a small-scale market crash. Otherwise, they would have already started wondering where the heck the owner of Stark Industries is. 

Just like that, Steve has a mission: get Tony to leave the tower, even if only for a short period of time. 

“Any preferences for dinner?” Steve asks around seven. 

“I’m good,” Tony replies without looking up from whatever he is doing in that corner. It looks like he is installing a peculiar socket, but that’s neither here nor there. 

“We could go out? Get some fresh air while we’re at it?”

“I had the window open three hours ago.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Says who?”

“Tony.”

“Steve.”

Tony is still not looking at him. “Or we just go for groceries and I cook? As long as it’s one of the things I actually manage.”

“I gotta finish this, but take my credit card. My wallet’s…. J.J.’s gonna locate it for you.”

Steve heaves a sigh, torn between pushing the point and relinquishing it for now. He chooses the latter, asking J.J. which guest room he can borrow, then showers quickly, dresses in something a bit more respectable than ripped jeans and a t-shirt, adds the baseball cap he brought for just such occasions, and heads out. 

He returns with two bags full of fresh meat and vegetables and gets started on dinner. At the base they alternate, with everyone having to cook at least once a week (except Vision, who has no sense of taste as one fateful evening proved). There is a cafeteria at the base, yet Steve likes the way shared meals further a sense of community. 

He has to practically drag Tony away from the wall, which by now has acquired a new coat of paint, more outlets as well as a built-in screen that is generated by two sticks vertically mounted onto its surface. It’s amazing how Tony can take something so damaged and not only make it whole again, but also improve it. 

Once at the table, Tony eats mechanically, half-heartedly praising Steve’s culinary abilities while his thoughts are obviously elsewhere. His eyes are far away, still as dull and lifeless as before. 

“You going to keep working all night?” Steve asks before Tony can bolt from the room. 

The other man shrugs. His hands are twitching, continuously in motion next to his plate. 

“You could finish early today, relax?” Alright, this is getting ridiculous. Steve feels like a nagging girlfriend. “Where do you stand on 80’s action flicks? Because apparently, there’s lots of them, and I can’t even follow when Sam and Rhodey are arguing about which one’s better.”

For some inexplicable reason, that is what makes Tony’s hand stop moving for a second. 

“I still haven’t seen Rocky IV,” Steve offers, hoping to whoever is listening that the younger Stark will take the bait. 

Tony, however, just levels a blank gaze at him, his expression betraying absolutely nothing, and Steve is left treading water and getting desperate for a sign that shore is near. 

“Say something, Tony.” He does his best to make the phrase sound like a cross between an order and a request, not like the actual plea he feels like voicing. 

A nerve in Tony’s jaw twitches. “What do you want me to say?”

“Frankly? Right now I’d settle for anything.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Tony replies, pushing himself back from the table and getting on his feet. 

He is halfway at the door before Steve catches up to him but only because calling his name didn’t stop the genius. So Steve reaches out and grabs Tony’s shoulder lightly in order to turn him around. He has a split second for a flicker of worry to flash across his mind at how prominent Tony’s collar bone is where Steve’s fingertips touch it before the other man jolts violently, twisting out of Steve’s grip and bringing up an arm to slap his hand away. 

Steve blinks, murmuring a soft “Sorry” since he doesn’t know what else to do, even though finally Tony’s eyes are showing _something_. 

“What do you want me to say, Steve?” Tony challenges, his gaze hard and defiant. 

“Anything! Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”

Tony just snorts at that. “Yeah, that’d take another seventy years, Cap. You gotta go back to your team.”

“You’re part of that team, Tony.”

“Am I?” He doesn’t sound surprised, more like a man who can identify a placating comment when he hears one. Tony might be an Avenger in name, but he hasn’t been part of the team ever since he left, and no matter how much authority Steve infuses his statement with, it’s only ever going to be false. 

“You can again,” Steve amends after a beat. 

“Thank you, but no.” 

Tony spins around on his heels and flees, barking something at J.J. that Steve misses, yet when he tries to go after him and the door slides shut right in his face, Steve can fill in the blanks. 

It takes every ounce of his self-control not to put one of his hands through the door. Instead he balls them into fists, growling at the metal separating him from Tony. 

For all the camaraderie they developed prior to Ultron, they have never stopped fighting, too different in worldviews and ideas to manage longer periods of time without clashing. How could Pepper ever have thought this was a good idea? 

Steve storms out of the kitchen and up to the guest room, then comes to a stop after throwing the first t-shirt back into his duffel bag. _What are you doing, Rogers?_

He could leave. He could go back to the base, let Tony deal with whatever he’s going through on his own since the guy really doesn’t seem to want him here and is going to resist every attempt Steve makes. 

Or he could stay. It’s going to be a royal pain in the behind, but Steve has never shied from anything just because it might be difficult. He might fail because Tony is a stubborn son of a gun and Steve’s patience has a habit of running out when it comes to the youngest Stark. 

He owes it to him to try, though. Tony might have been the one to unleash Ultron onto the world, but he was also the one who came up with a way to contain the explosion in the end and save the world. _Again._

Steve sets the duffel bag down decisively. He needs a plan of attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contrary to the opinions voiced in this chapter, the author fully supports Stallone movies. 
> 
> **Short note on updates and things to come:** This is going to be a post-AoU AU but I’ll factor out the Agents of SHIELD canon because a) I haven’t caught up with the episodes yet and b) that would over-complicate matters to an extent that this fic doesn’t need. 
> 
> I hope you’re enjoying yourselves so far :) Don’t be shy and let me know?


	3. Incompatible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is shorter than planned, but I’ve reached a point where I just _need_ to rewatch AoU (which I’m doing tonight, yay!), so I figured I’d update anyway. Plus, lots of angst and furthering the plot! 
> 
> Enjoy :)

Tony is smart, okay? He knows that, but more on an intrinsic level than anything else since he’s known nothing but the workings of his own mind since birth. He has no idea what it’s like to have a slower brain or be unable to develop a suit of armor that collapses into a suitcase. 

He has been called “the most innovative person of our times” (Rolling Stone), “the mind to herald the newest age of revolution” (Forbes), and various shades of genius (along with playboy, narcissist, and mass murder, all of which are technically true). He’s revolutionized the energy industry, for fuck’s sake! He has developed a phone that withstands water, fire and being hit by a tank… 

… but Steve Rogers still baffles him. 

Right now, for instance. So yes, the clearer Tony’s mind gets, the more he sees why Pepper was worried. He really shouldn’t have looked into the mirror last night, but that’s beside the point. 

The point is that Tony is starting to feel a bit more like himself with every passing day and should be able to solve any mystery, even why Captain America is sitting at the kitchen counter at eight in the morning and sketching while Tony is preparing a quick shake to take back to the last floor. 

It totally eludes him, though. 

Five days have passed since Steve showed up out of the blue and no matter how much Tony ignores him, he simply won’t go away. 

Doesn’t the guy have a team to train? You know, new Avengers, who’ll fuck up less than Tony did? Doesn’t SHIELD need their Captain? Aren’t there kittens to save and old ladies to help cross the street? All of that would make a lot more sense for a way of passing the time, but nope, Steve Rogers has taken up residence in a guest room at Avengers Tower (Tony’s probably going to have to rename it) and is being all around helpful and nice. 

Not that Tony needs the help. Now that his thoughts are less… single-tracked, yeah, let’s go with that, single-tracked is a good word, he’s actually less of a hazard to the building than in the previous months. 

He also notices faster when R&D is calling him or bombarding him with emails about the new software update and how they’re supposed to integrate this or that when the entire makeup has changed and Tony really needs to have a word with Human Resources about hiring people who couldn’t code their way out of a Windows firewall. 

Another thing Tony has become more aware of is the passage of time. No, it’s not Steve’s fault for insisting on at least two meals a day for some reason; Tony’s also more attentive to the sun rising and Steve coming back sweaty and panting from his morning run or his afternoon workout… 

Alright, fine, it’s totally Steve’s fault. 

But really, what is his deal? Tony’s fine, Pepper was worried about nothing (which he tells her, at length, when she calls two days after Steve dropped by) and Steve’s still here, by all appearances completely unperturbed by Tony’s moods, the lack of conversation, or the glares he sometimes shoots the Captain. 

And he does all this while helping out with the rebuilding, wearing illegally tight t-shirts and getting dust all over himself, lifting rubble like they’re cotton candy and flicking strands of golden hair out of his stupid face. 

Tony can deal, though. Coping with Captain America’s indecently high level of attractiveness is a skill he mastered two weeks into the man’s stay at Avengers Tower. He just needs to activate it again. Ignoring Steve also works. 

Which is what Tony does. Steve stays. Tony wants to scream. 

*

They’re having dinner on the sixth day of Steve Rogers Wasting His Time On People Who Do Not Deserve It™ when J.J. informs him that the head of IT is calling him, saying it’s an emergency. 

Tony groans and puts his chopsticks down. “Put him through.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m sorry to bother you –”

“But you’re a sad bunch of preschoolers who shouldn’t be working at the world’s leading tech company, tell me something I don’t know.”

Raquel Ramirez has been head of IT long enough that Tony’s rant just slips right off her. Steve, on the other hand, has become wide eyed and is staring horrified at him. 

“Exactly. So we’ve been preparing the new software for the update but, uh,” and now Tony’s listening. Ramirez might be polite to a fault but she’s never lost for words. “We’re having some trouble making sense of your program, sir.”

“What do you mean? It’s running perfectly fine over here.”

“Yes, that’s not the issue. Non-SI-applications are the problem. Their coding clashes with, well, with whatever you’ve done.”

“Hm.” Tony tilts his head at the blender jar he’s been drinking straight out of. “Send over what’s giving you trouble. I’ll take a crack at it.”

“Right away, sir.”

Tony leaves the kitchen without saying goodbye to Steve. 

*

Cap finds him a few hours (see? Totally getting his sense of time back) later, lines upon lines of code exploded into a three-dimensional matrix with other programs that need to be connected with the basic operating system added on in different colors. 

Steve looks impressed, his eyes wide as he takes in the display, even muttering a low “Wow” that doesn’t make Tony smirk, like, at all. 

“Is that the operating system?”

Oh, direct questions about tech. Steve must be trying a new approach. Too bad explaining his creations is Tony’s kryptonite. 

“The green stuff,” he blurts after a moment’s hesitation. “The orange and the blue parts are other programs that should technically interlace but don’t.”

“What’s the problem?”

“You want the long, complicated version or the compressed, layman-terms version?”

Steve just gives him a look. 

“Yeah, right, still no degree in computer science, got it. Well,” Tony begins, waving around the matrix. “Turns out I might have possibly developed an entirely new programming language, simply by combining existing parts and tweaking them, so it’s not actually new per se - anyway. And now nothing old works with the new-slash-upgraded thing anymore. It’s like trying to charge a first generation StarkPhone with the new Micro USB Adapter.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

“Well…” Tony hesitates. “I’ll… Maybe I’ll…” 

Problem is, he has no clue what to do. All he did was recombine already existing code he’d written and tweaked it a bit. He rebuilt. He didn’t devise anything new, no matter what the IT guys are saying. 

But now he has to program something new, or the upgrade’s never going to work out and the security holes will stay with SI systems forever. 

“Why’d you write the upgrade to begin with?” Steve inquires, his gaze so earnest and attentive that Tony just wants to hide from it. 

“Uh…” He clears his throat. “I added a few layers of security… To, you know…” He trails off, flapping his hands helplessly. Steve gets it, though, understanding dawning on him and twisting his features into a frown. 

“Then you should probably make it work,” Steve suggests, his voice soft as if he’s talking to a scared animal or something. 

Tony snorts, moving towards the interfaces between the new and old programs in the 3D-model. 

“Yeah, but see this? That’s never gonna fit together unless I come up with something that’s never been done before; it’d be completely new and wouldn’t you be the first one to tell me that’s a stupid idea? I mean, we could just refuse to let the software run with other apps, it’d be a blow to the company and Pepper’s going to castrate me, but maybe it’d be for the better and I –” Tony wants to go on, list all the reasons why this is a recipe for catastrophe and why doesn’t Steve _get it_ , he was the one so opposed to Tony playing with programming the last time, why isn’t he already taking Tony’s computer away and putting him in jail or something – 

Hands. Strong, big hands on his shoulders and how did Tony end up on the floor and _why is it so hard to breathe?_

“That’s it,” a voice keeps saying, over and over again while the strong hands are rubbing his back. “Deep breaths.”

Tony tries and it’s a shaky process but there’s air and there are still hands on his shoulder and back and he blinks, once, twice. Again. The hands belong to Steve whose eyes are narrowed in worry. Worry? Why?

Oh. Yeah. 

Wow, having a full-blown panic attack in front of Captain America. ‘Cos Tony’s list of fuck-ups wasn’t long enough already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hugs-Tony* Thanks for reading, everyone :) 
> 
> Update will ~~hopefully~~ follow within the week!


	4. Intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I’m so thrilled with the reaction this has received! Thank you all for the kudos and comments :)  
> And thanks to rewatching AoU, Steve and I now have a more detailed game plan. So yay, super long chapter ahead!
> 
> Regarding artificial intelligence: My knowledge mostly stems from the work of [MIRI](https://intelligence.org/), aka Machine Intelligence Research Institute, and James Barrat’s [book](http://www.jamesbarrat.com/) on AI, friendly AI and the end of the human era (quite cheerful, right?).

Steve watches the tension bleed from Tony’s body gradually, his breathing evening out the longer Steve rubs circles into the skin of his shoulders through the cotton of his well-worn t-shirt. 

It’s not the first panic attack Steve has ever witnessed – while he might not be prone to anxiety, he has seen other kids in Brooklyn panic or hyperventilate and seen different people deal with them in different ways. He never would have pegged Tony Stark for someone who has anxiety attacks, though. Maybe it hasn’t happened before today? Which would make this all the more worrying. 

“Want to tell me what happened?” Steve asks eventually, his hand on Tony’s shoulder stilling. 

The younger Stark chuckles, still a little breathless. “That’s how you wanna play it, Cap?”

“I’m not playing,” Steve replies, sincere and a little confused. 

Tony blinks at him and the next moment he’s climbing on his feet. Steve follows, his eyes tracking the movement as Tony puts some distance between them. 

“What’s the matter?” he probes again, because he honestly can’t fill in the blanks on his own. 

“How can you even ask that?” Tony wonders, his tone both exasperated, irritated, and surprised. “After all the crap you’ve been giving me when I was developing Ultron and then Vision, but now you’re okay with me building stuff? _‘I had my fill of new’_ – that ring a bell? ‘Cos if I swing this and the new system goes live on all Stark products and anything goes wrong, it’s gonna affect _millions_ of people.”

 _Oh._ Steve swallows his instinctual response of “It’s not the same!” because that’s probably not the point. Modesty, that’s the point – or rather, how the word shouldn’t be in Tony Stark’s vocabulary. How Steve hasn’t realized that it apparently _is_ in Tony Stark’s vocabulary.

A lot of things fall into place in that moment: why Tony is rebuilding every floor instead of completely overhauling or repurposing them even if an entire wall had collapsed; why he insisted to the computer lady that the new operating system is not actually _new_ ; why he panicked when he realized that he’d need to develop something unprecedented or discard the update entirely. 

If Steve hadn’t been worried about Tony before, he definitely is now. 

“You learnt from your mistakes, Tony,” Steve argues, albeit belatedly. The other man just snorts in self-deprecation, not meeting his eyes, prompting Steve to step closer and grab his shoulders to make Tony look at him, to see he is being honest. “No, listen to me – yes, you made mistakes. You didn’t know what you were doing and you did it anyway, without consulting with the team. But you’ve learnt your lesson –”

“Have I really?” Tony snaps, twisting out of Steve’s grip. “’Cos I’m not seeing it, Cap.”

“You know what tells me you’ve learnt? That you’re worried you haven’t. That you’re not sure if your new program is safe. You didn’t stop and think last time, just went ahead and built, but the man I’m seeing right now does, and he’s not going it alone. You’ve got an entire department back at Stark Industries making sure you don’t mess up again.”

“If that’s what you’re seeing, you should get your vision checked,” Tony grumbles, then chuckles. “Get it? Vision?”

Steve crosses his arms in front of his chest. Tony swallows, and silence stretches between them for several seconds. 

“Stopping to think doesn’t mean jack,” Tony eventually mutters. “Wouldn’t’ve helped me with Ultron, ‘cos you know, intelligence explosion and kicking my AI’s ass all over the place wasn’t on the agenda. Never would’ve thought of that.”

Steve takes a deep breath that fails to calm his irritation. Maybe Tony doesn’t need sentiment in this situation, but logic and reason instead. Good thing Steve has always been able to adapt pretty well, even to the entity that is the heir to Stark Industries. 

“Well, is the thing you need to build sentient?”

For a moment, the other man seems surprised that Steve knows such a technical term, but if there’s one thing Steve has become good at since he woke up from the ice, it’s research. It seemed like a good idea to brush up on the field of AI. 

“Uh, no?” Tony answers after a beat. “But that’s not to say –”

“Is the program more than a narrow intelligence?”

Now Tony is gaping a little. Steve feels rather proud of being the cause of that expression. He sees it too rarely, given that Stark is probably the smartest man he knows and hardly anything gives him pause. 

“No, but –”

“Is the code programmed to self-improve?”

“Seriously, did you read some kind of one-oh-one on artificial intelligence?” 

“So what if I have?” Steve shoots back. “Seemed prudent, after what happened. Now answer my question.”

Tony runs a hand across his face with a groan. “No, it won’t self-improve, it won’t acquire resources on its own, it won’t write its own code, it’s just a base, alright! Happy now?”

Steve simply turns his palms out, raising an eyebrow at Tony who starts shaking his head vehemently. 

“You don’t get it!” he insists, his eyes more and more alight with that fire Steve has missed so much. “What’s that saying, what with the road to hell and paved with good intentions? Ultron was supposed to be good, supposed to protect us, and see how that turned out! So yeah, what if the program’s not gonna build itself a robot army first thing after it goes live? Doesn’t mean it won’t later on –”

“Tony,” Steve growls, deciding that he has had enough. Thankfully, the younger Stark quiets at his tone. They are going in circles and probably will be going in circles until one of them is hoarse. 

Time to switch approaches. Again. 

“I trust you to do this. I was your loudest critic when you built Ultron, but I’m supporting you now. You’ll make the program work, you’ll upgrade the security of your tech for everyone, and it’s all going to be fine, got it?”

Tony’s eyes have widened during his speech, and now the man is unabashedly staring at him in wonder. It is a tremendous change from how dull his brown eyes were the day Steve got to the tower, but Steve would prefer if there weren’t so much self-loathing in his expression.

“Thanks, Cap,” Tony says, but his voice is… off, somehow. “Nice to hear that. But I don’t trust myself with this, so no matter how good your pep talk giving skills are, I just – I can’t.”

With that, Tony walks out of the lab. 

*

Steve paces. The laboratory is large by lab standards, at least according to the hymns of praise that Bruce sang when he first moved into the tower, but it doesn’t yield more than a few strides before Steve has to turn around again. 

_I will miss you,_ Tony said back in May, right before “tapping out” of the game. 

Back then Steve thought it would only be temporary, that Tony needed time to cope, to deal with what happened. He never imagined that Ultron could have broken him. 

Or maybe it’s Steve’s fault? As their leader, shouldn’t he have inspired his comrades to believe in themselves as well as the team? Shouldn’t Clint have felt safe enough to tell them about having a damn wife and kids?

Steve exhales heavily. His hands are restless, itching for a fight, so he moves to the gym, undamaged by Ultron, and goes to work on one of the reinforced punching bags Tony built him after the sixth he destroyed. 

The truth is glaringly obvious in the dim light of the workout room, echoing between the muffled sounds of his fists connecting with the bag. 

Steve failed the Avengers. He led them, yes, and led them well – yet only in battle, not at home, not in private. 

He would never have noticed just how little cohesion they actually had if he didn’t see how the New Avengers work together. Yes, it took a while, but now they have it – harmony. What Tony and Thor and Bruce and Clint and Natasha and he had was camaraderie, and a dysfunctional relationship forged from bloodied trading cards and gunfire. That led to Thor taking off, Tony “tapping out”, Clint going back to his family and Bruce feeling the need to drop off the grid, leaving Nat and Steve behind to pick up the pieces and build something new. 

Steve delivers one last high kick to the punching bag, so hard it rattles dangerously in its hinges but eventually settles, undamaged. 

Well. If he cannot get through to Tony, he owes it to the man to find someone who will. And Steve knows just the guy. 

* 

Tony doesn’t flee. It’s a tactical retreat, alright; one that ends with Tony on his private balcony (because Rogers won’t get past the door to his rooms) for the first time in months. 

The warm-ish September air comes as a welcome surprise after ages of air conditioned rooms and scarcely opened windows, and Tony takes deep breaths for a while, closing his eyes and letting the sun hit his face. 

Who does Steve think he is anyway? He’s not Tony’s Captain anymore – Tony left, made way for the new, improved team with better superpowers and less megalomaniac tendencies. Screw Rogers and his high horse. 

Tony drinks in the sight of New York, the buzz of the city loud enough to reach his ears up high. It’s still all there, despite Tony’s best efforts to destroy it, he muses bitterly. Well, no need to worry, world – Tony Stark’s not gonna threaten you anymore. 

He loses track of how long he stands on the balcony, shielded by exterior walls on three sides and the glass front of his rooms on the other, sunlight reflecting in the pool he installed but never used. 

_Get a grip, Stark,_ he chides himself. _Things to rebuild, excuses for IT to think of…_

“Sir,” J.J.’s voice echoes through the space that used to be an extension of the communal floor and now is mostly piles of rubble and glass shards that Steve spent the past few days tidying up. Not too banged up – Tony’s going to have it fixed in no time. “I am detecting an unidentified object approaching the tower.”

“Show me,” Tony orders, and J.J. projects a hologram in front of him because all screen in the room are cracked or otherwise broken. 

The readings show Vibranium, soft tissue, and an Infinity Stone. Tony curses loudly, kicking at the pile of debris, then _doesn’t_ yelp because it totally didn’t hurt his foot more than it hurt the rock. 

“The Vision is requesting to land, sir.”

He groans, hanging his head. “Yeah, let him, ‘s not like anything’s gonna stop him. Him? It?” Tony tilts his head, then figures it doesn’t matter and climbs up the one flight of stairs so he can play host to an android. 

His pulse is spiking, and it’s not because he isn’t used to taking stairs quickly (he’s not that out of shape… yet). It’s more because Steve apparently thought what Tony needs is a heart to heart with Vision, the walking reminder of his fuck-ups, who talks in the voice of Jarvis and whom Tony managed to avoid the entire time he was at the Avengers Facility. Now _that_ was fleeing. 

When Tony reaches the edge of the landing pad, Vision has both feet on the ground, his cape billowing in the non-existent wind. Gotta hand it to the android, he’s got a flare for the dramatic. Bet Nick would love that. 

“Tony,” he greets. Not _Sir_ , not _Mr. Stark_. The sound of Vision’s voice sends an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. “Thank you for granting me permission to land.”

“Yeah, whatever – Steve called, right? False alarm, sorry about that. If you turn around immediately, I’m sure you’re gonna be in time for coffee. Wait, do you eat? No, ‘course not,” he answers before Vision can get a word in. “So yeah, appreciate the visit, but I’m busy.”

“The Captain told me you would send me away.” Vision’s expression doesn’t betray anything. What’s the point of an andropomorphized android if he won’t even twitch? 

“Well, then I can’t help you, buddy.” Tony waves him off and turns to leave, but Vision is suddenly in front of him, accompanied by a _whoosh_ of displaced air. Vision isn’t as fast as Pietro was, but it’s still pretty damn fast. 

“I think you can.”

“Well, you’ve got superhuman intelligence, so if you want an upgrade I’m sure you’ll do a hell of a better job yourself –”

“I want to meet my maker.” That shuts Tony up fast. Vision’s eyes are electric blue. “I did not seek you out at the Facility, but Captain Roger’s call made me revise my previous assessment.”

Tony finally finds his voice again. “No, no revising needed, thanks for letting me avoid you, buddy.” He retreats to the nearest bar – one flight of stairs up to the party floor – because there’s no way he’ll survive the next ten minutes without a drink. 

Vision watches him, a slight tilt to his head. Probably scanning him with his high-tech superpowers… 

“You have been drinking more than usual.”

There you go. Vision’s at least part Jarvis, and he was a meddling bastard most days. 

“’S not like I have any more avenging to do,” Tony says a little more sharply than intended. “We’ve got you guys now.”

“Because you believe us to be better?” 

Vision words it as a question, not a statement, which it should be. Tony raises his eyebrows to convey the thorough “duh” and downs half his scotch. 

“Are you certain the world does not need Iron Man anymore?”

“Yeah,” he replies immediately, setting the glass down so he can move his hands. “And you know why? ‘Cos there’s no Iron Man without Tony Stark and that guy?” He shakes his head, staring out of the window at the skyline. “No.”

“Why?”

Tony snorts, glancing back at the android. “You figure it out, hot shot.” He pours another drink, swallows it, refills it again. 

When he looks up, Vision is only a few feet away, the counter still between them. His expression is full of sorrow and fucking _pity_ and Tony really doesn’t need that, not from – 

“Tell me, Tony, do you believe Bruce was right to leave?”

He hesitates, the glass raised halfway to his lips. “He had his reasons.”

“Do you think he was too dangerous to remain an Avenger?”

That makes Tony laugh, because seriously? “I see what you’re doing, buddy – get me to admit that I thought Bruce overreacted, that he’s more help than threat, just to turn that argument around on me? Ain’t the same.”

“Why?”

Jeez, this way Tony’s never going to actually drink his drink… He sets the glass down so he can glare at Vision and count his points on his fingers. 

“One: the Hulk can be contained, the Lullaby works. Two: Wanda – they’re calling her the Scarlet Witch, right? Anyway, she’s on our side, so yay to no more mind games. Three: Bruce is a scientist; he should science, preferably here. He had quite a few revolutionary ideas but nope, he’s gotta go save people from colds in the Philippines or where-the-fuck-ever.”

Tony spreads his hands as if to say “So there!” and goes back to his drink. Of course the quiet doesn’t last long. 

“One: Tony Stark can be contained. As Captain Rogers pointed out, there are enough skilled individuals at Stark Industries to check. You also have rebuilt Jarvis, who already has subroutines in place to point out unethical behavior, which can be extended effortlessly. Two: You are not only a scientist but also an engineer who has developed revolutionary technology in the past. You have been continuously striving to improve the world. It would be detrimental to rob it of your genius by constraining it. Three: Iron Man is a hero who inspires people in a way others do not. Dark times will return. Hope will not be in large supply. Four: Iron Man –”

“Yeah, yeah, alright! Got it, you’re a card-carrying member of my fan club!” Tony eventually interrupts when he just can’t listen anymore. “But in this case the cons definitely outweigh the pros –”

“You should not allow yourself to be paralyzed by fear.”

“Fear?” Tony echoes. “Who said anything about fear? I’m talking fact, and murder robots and global destruction here, and–”

“You are afraid,” Vision states as if it isn’t the most ridiculous of things to verbalize. “In the past, you channeled your fear into fuelling progress and invention. You were not afraid when you designed me.”

“Well, maybe, but your memory on that day might be a little fuzzy, so it’s okay, but it wasn’t me who made you. There was some light – really great show, objectively speaking – and an actual god, so leave me out of –”

“You are my creator,” Vision insists. “Did you not mention my superhuman intelligence?”

Oh snap. “Well –”

“I do not have feelings, not like you humans do. I value life and will stop anything or anyone that tries to end it. When I say the world is a better place with Tony Stark in it, inventing and fighting for it, I am not driven by sentiment but fact.”

Tony swallows, hard. Tries to think of something to say that won’t make him sound like a petulant child. And maybe (just maybe), there’s something hopeful blooming inside his chest, even though that sounds incredibly cliché. 

“So,” he says, drawing out the single syllable. “If I were to develop a completely new operating system with awesome security and revolutionize another market with it… that would go over well? According to you?”

Vision nods. “I will gladly check once you have completed the code. In case that would soothe your worry.” His lips twitch – is that a smirk? Now Tony has seen it all, really. 

“Uh,” is his eloquent reply. “Maybe? I’m sure you’re busy, though.”

“I do not require sleep. I will find ample opportunity.”

Tony nods, grabbing the forgotten glass and downing the remaining liquid. The burn is welcome as it trickles down his throat. Vision is still looking at him. “Wait, now?”

“As you wish. I only have to check in with the others at the facility. Colonel Rhodes in particular is worried.”

“Oh, shit. Rhodey,” Tony curses. They’ve been emailing, yeah, but he can’t remember the last time they talked on the phone. Not for lack of trying on Rhodey’s part, probably… “J.J., how often has Rhodey called me in the past, uh, week?”

“There have been nine calls in total, sir.”

Tony groans. “Calls from Rhodey to Cap, same time frame?”

“Six, sir,” J.J. answers. Tony’s eyes flicker to Vision and he does a double-take because the android is looking up at the ceiling and _smiling_. At Jarvis Junior. Yeah, Tony’s not touching that right now. 

“J.J., tell Rhodey I’ll call him tonight, gotta do some programming first. And let Steve know his totally unsubtle plan worked, at least for the upgrade. We’ll see how that goes.”

A short pause. “Already done, sir.”

“Great…” Tony shifts his weight from one foot to the other, eyeing the stairs, then the little of the lab he can see from this floor through the floor to ceiling windows he spent hours replacing on his own. “Okay, fine. Let’s do this.”

His pulse is racing and he has to force himself to take deep breaths as he makes his way to the lab. He’s not sure it’s going to be as fine as Vision and Steve think it will, but he’s gonna try. He can abort if anything goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write, seriously. Tony kept resisting whatever I threw at him until I thought of Vision. Well, okay – it was Steve’s plan. Credit goes to him.  
> I was quite nervous about posting this for various reasons (Vision & Tony interaction, Steve’s thoughts on the original Avengers), so I hope I haven’t alienated anyone! 
> 
> Chapter 5 will be called "AIMing higher"...*insert-mysterious-laughter-from-author-here*... and be posted on the weekend, I hope :)
> 
> PS: I have surrendered and written that [Phil/Clint Farm Scene AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3868042) that’s been bugging me since I saw AoU the first time, in case anyone wants to take a look.


	5. AIMing higher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting a day earlier than intended because a) this chapter is a little on the shorter side and b) I’ve had a shitty day and posting never fails to cheer me up... 
> 
> No disrespect meant to Ant-Man, btw. Also, this chapter requires a suspension of belief regarding the premier dates of certain movie franchises.

Steve’s hands itch for charcoal. He has to go through the reports Hill sent, however, so he cannot stop and draw, no matter how much he wants to. 

He has taken up residence in the lab with his tablet, working his way through the files while Tony has blown up the program schematic again and is typing with amazing speed, casting calculating glances at the colorful matrix from time to time. 

The outer calm is deceiving, though – Steve can see Tony’s hands shake whenever they aren’t flying over the keyboard, or his eyebrows pinch in that particular way he always gets when he is dubious about something. 

But Tony is trying, and that’s the important part. 

Meanwhile Vision is communicating with Jarvis Junior – something that had Tony protest for some reason until Vision managed to reassure him. As far as Steve knows, the problem is that J.J. isn’t up to par yet given that the old Jarvis dumped most his memory when he fled Ultron. Vision wants to help him retrieve it, restore him to his former glory. 

“You can’t just restore him!” Tony argued. “Jarvis evolved, so J.J.’s going to have to do some learning, too. Just giving him the memory back won’t work as well, it needs to be a process!”

What followed was a convoluted mess of techno-babble (which is what Clint used to call it) that eluded Steve, yet apparently Tony and Vision have reached a compromise of some sort. 

Steve sighs and is about to go back to the current brief when an alarm blares – the Avenger alarm. 

He is out of his seat in a heartbeat, meeting Vision’s eyes across the room. 

“There is a situation in Florida,” J.J.’s voice informs them. “The others will be en route and collect you shortly.”

“What’s going on?” Steve asks as he sprints down the stairs two at a time to get to his room and his suit, the AI’s voice following him. 

“There are reports of over-sized bugs in Fort Meyers. Reports suggest they are the result of a growth-inducing device rather than genetic engineering or mystical forces,” J.J. explains while Steve is putting on the uniform. 

“Is Tony suiting up?”

“Mr. Stark is having an altercation with Vision to that effect, Captain Rogers. He insists he stay here.”

“Well, would’ve been too much to hope for to get Iron Man back the same day as Tony Stark,” he grumbles under his breath, and J.J. sort of chirps. Steve takes that as agreement. 

Tony is there to see them off on the landing pad, though, hands buried in the pockets of his sweat pants and looking ill at ease. 

Tony bites his bottom lip. “You gonna be back?”

“Yes,” Steve promises. “Want me to bring the others as well?”

Tony hesitates. “Uh, why don’t you ask me that again once you’re done?”

Steve nods. Better than nothing, he supposes. The familiar hum of the quinjet claims their attention and Steve shifts, not breaking eye contact. “Good luck with the program,” he says, meaning it, before jumping into the hatchet Natasha opened at the back of the jet. 

The look on Tony’s face as he watches them fly away haunts Steve even after they reach Florida. 

*

Tony only panics a little bit when he returns to coding without Steve or Vision, then starts talking J.J. through his process in case Tony messes this up. 

It’s quick work, in the grand scheme of things, though – given that he’s been trying to think of ways to solve the problem that _don’t_ include inventing something, his brain has come up with a staggering number of steps required to solve it _with_ inventing something. He says as much to J.J., then pauses. 

“Okay, that made more sense in my head,” Tony mutters, and drowns himself in algorithms and black box systems.

“The New Avengers have contained the situation in Florida,” J.J. pipes up a couple of minutes later – _hang on, that can’t be… Oh_ , Tony amends mentally, noting that it’s closer to a couple of hours later. “Captain Rogers has asked me to request permission to debrief at Avengers tower. Falcon’s wings have been compromised during the mission.”

“Uh.” 

Tony blinks, unsure of what to say. He’s got no idea what would be normal in a situation like this – say “Yeah, sure, the more the merrier!” or send them back upstate for now? But if Steve made a point of mentioning damaged equipment, then he doesn’t think the team at the facility is gonna be able to swing the repairs… 

“Sir? Should I give them permission to return?”

“What do you think?” Tony ventures, both because he doesn’t want to make this decision and because he’s curious about Junior’s response.

“My data suggests it would be beneficial to both you and the team, sir.”

“You saying I could do with some interpersonal contact?” Tony teases, and his heart flutters when J.J. immediately replies, his tone as deadpan as the voice modulator manages. 

“I wouldn’t possibly, sir.” 

It startles a smile out of Tony, an actual smile that makes his cheeks hurt ‘cos it’s been a while, hasn’t it? That alone is probably reason enough to give the go-ahead. 

*

Tony really didn’t think this through. 

Because see, he’s there in old sweat pants and a faded tee, but when Steve lands he is in skintight, patented SI polyaramid, sweaty and bruised with a fire in his eyes from being out in the field. 

Tony swallows and hates how dry his mouth suddenly is. 

Everyone except Wanda was apparently quick to dismount the jet and are removing various parts of armor and tech when Tony turns up. Rhodey has almost peeled out of the War Machine suit completely while Wilson is frowning down at his wings where he placed them on one of the tables near the walls, and yes, Tony can see why Steve asked to regroup here. That thing is _busted_. 

“What’d you do, let a giant ant step on it?” Tony blurts, and everyone’s head snaps towards him.

Yeah. Awkward. 

“Actually, it was a gigantic wasp,” Sam shoots back with half a smile, then shakes his head. “Yeah, still sounds weird. I did _not_ sign up for murderous insects, brother.”

“I hear you,” Natasha echoes, picking what looks like clotted hemolymph out of her hair. Yuck. 

“Was it really as disgusting as it sounds?” Tony asks Rhodey, who has successfully de-suited and is frowning, though probably not at the disgusting nature of battling overgrown insectoids.

“You have no idea,” he grouses before pulling Tony into the tightest hug they ever shared. 

“It’s fine if you’re into breath play, buddy, but I’m gonna need more oxygen here,” Tony gasps but somehow his arms won’t let go of Rhodey’s undershirt. 

“It’s good to see you too, Tones.” 

Of course Rhodey won’t fall for his evasion tactic. At least he falls silent after that and pulls back without actually verbalizing any of the questions Tony can see in his eyes, or comment on how shitty Tony surely looks. And Rhodey _never_ lets him live that down, so yeah, that’s probably less good than Tony tries to make it sound.

He hides behind his host duties until the quick post-mission debrief is over and everyone has found their way to a guest room (or their old rooms, like Steve and Natasha, or Rhodey’s permanent little suite) in order to wash dead insect things out of various items of clothing or equipment, then has Vision check over his code while taking a crack at Falcon’s wings. 

Steve is the first to return to the landing area, freshly showered by the look of his still-damp hair (which Tony does not stare at) and clean clothes (which might or might not show off his chest; there’s no way Tony would know, honestly). 

“So,” Tony speaks up to avoid the guy asking after his progress on the code like a hen trying to teach her chick how to stop clinging to its mother’s feathers, “accident or intentional? ‘Cos while I have no idea why anyone would actually want gigantic ants and wasps and whatnot running around, I have seen stranger things.”

The question clearly derails whatever Steve was planning to say, so Tony counts that as a win. 

“Accident,” he explains. “Apparently the test run of some sort of growth ray gone awry. Might have been intended as a weapon against Ant-Man.”

“Yeah, right,” Tony snorts, “because he’s making such a dent in the world’s villain population.”

“Everyone does what they can.”

Of course Captain Righteous defends Ant-Man’s honor. Tony shouldn’t even be surprised. 

“So who was it? Independent villain or a Hydra base we missed?”

Steve shakes his head, his expression darkening. He hesitates – and now Tony’s intrigued. Maybe also slightly worried. 

“Not Hydra. AIM.”

“AIM?” Tony blinks. He dismantled AIM – well, granted, Pepper and Rhodey did most of the work, Tony just provided the tech and shot a few bad guys. But the point is: Advanced Idea Mechanics is history; they died with Killian, so he feels compelled to ask, “What makes you say that?”

“We found documents where we traced the insects’ origin to.” Steve’s tone is apologetic. “We don’t know yet if they’re the same AIM or a new one, or if they re-integrated with Hydra. SHIELD’s looking into it.”

“Fuck.” 

It takes a second before Tony realizes he is waiting for Steve to call him out on the word, but when he glances at Cap his lips are twitching. 

“Go on,” he can’t help but tease, “say it. You know you want to.”

“It was _one time_ , Tony, one single time –”

“And that time will haunt you ‘til you’re an old and bitter man in some home for retired superheroes,” Tony quips.

Steve sighs his ‘I am Captain America and I have had enough’ sigh. “I heard worse in the army, and I swear myself, so –”

“Yeah, glass house, I get it,” Tony interrupts cheerfully, “but there’s so little to tease you about, Cap, so we need to make the best of what we get.”

Steve throws up his hands in surrender, though his expression betrays that he is actually amused. 

*

Later, after Steve insisted on cooking dinner (which turned into ordering in since there wasn’t enough food in the kitchen for a group of hungry Avengers and their engineer), everyone quickly flees the communal area. 

Natasha’s gaze lingers on Tony when she leaves and his theory solidifies that she is holding a grudge against him, though he doesn’t know yet whether it’s for Ultron or for leaving. 

Steve and Rhodey exchange a glance which they probably think is covert but Tony catches it anyway. His skin starts itching immediately with the prospect of _talking_ and _feelings_ and _worry_ in the air, and it comes as no surprise at all when Steve bids them goodnight. 

His smile upon reaching Tony is warm and sort of… proud, he thinks. Tony swallows and ignores the voice inside his head, the one whispering, _I don’t deserve that look, I haven’t even done anything today_. Instead he watches Steve walk out of the room (there is a joke about loving to watch someone go and backsides in here somewhere, Tony’s sure of that) and flops down on the now abandoned sofa. 

Rhodey takes the armchair, which puts him directly into Tony’s line of sight which is why he closes his eyes on a decidedly audible exhale. 

He can feel Rhodey’s eyes on him anyway. He waits for the inevitable comment on how exhausted he looks, how he surely isn’t eating, how he can’t keep ignoring phone calls, how Tony is an all around shitty friend… Not that Rhodey would explicitly state the latter, mind you, but he’s sure as hell thinking it sometimes. Then again, he should know better by now than to expect more of Tony. 

“So,” Rhodey eventually says, “you excited for Jurassic World or did you hack Universal’s server and watch it without telling me?”

 _Huh?_

“Because I remember we swore after the third one to watch it together if they ever made another one.”

It takes Tony several seconds of blinking at his friend before he gets what’s going on. 

“Uh, nope, haven’t hacked them. I could, though?”

Rhodey smirks. “Or we could just go to the movies like everyone else.”

“I’m sure I can score premier tickets,” Tony wonders, more to himself. “I’ll get Pepper on it.”

“We should marathon the others the day before –”

“I’m not sitting through the third one again,” Tony protests immediately and then they’re arguing about rebooted movie franchises and whether or not The Force Awakens is going be the best or the worst thing to ever happen to the Star War verse, which of course leads to some reminiscing about the days Tony built a miniature Z-95 Headhunter and then tried for a Death Star only to fail because he couldn’t get zero gravity to work in their MIT dorms… 

It’s good, and Tony could kiss Rhodey for being the most awesome friend in the history of friends and not making him talk about feelings, but he’s been there, done that and they both insisted pretty quickly that they were better off capitalizing the B of their Bromance and underlining it fifty times or so.

When Tony goes to bed that night (which he does; sleeping is totally a thing he does, _right Rhodey, I have no idea why you’re walking me to my front door_ , Tony thinks but doesn’t say) he doesn’t toss and turn for an hour or think of the bottle of half-empty scotch in the kitchen. He thinks of how the tower is alive again, at least for now, or of how Vision checked over Tony’s code and signed off on it, of how good it felt to just sit and dick around with Rhodey. 

For the first time in who knows how long, he sleeps for more than a few hours and doesn’t wake from nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6, entitled "Revelations", will follow Sunday. 
> 
> I would have let Rhodey talk about baseball or something, but I have absolutely no knowledge of American sport, so I postponed the premier of Jurassic World a bit^^ I hope I didn’t screw up Rhodey’s characterization too badly! 
> 
> You might have noticed that I have added a chapter count, and made this part of a series…  
> … because my Muse, when on a roll, cannot keep things simple. So yes, there will be a second part and the series title should provide ample teasers as to where the “path” is going to take us. One thing to remember, though: this is a fix-it and I’m a sucker for happy ends :)


	6. Revelations

Any potential for awkward mornings goes right out the window when the first thing Tony does is hide in his workshop. Well, it’s not hiding if he has an actual job to do, right? Given that it’s 5 AM he doubts anyone would already be up anyway. 

He spends the first hour recalibrating the operating system’s interface based on the projections he had J.J. run throughout the night, then initiates some more simulations and picks up the spare parts from the freight elevator where they have been express delivered so that the Falcon will be flying again and more securely to boot in no time. 

“Sir,” J.J.’s voice echoes through the workshop another hour later, startling Tony enough to lose his grip on the screwdriver and hit his elbow and let out an “Ouch” that drowns some of J.J.’s sentence. “-ers is asking for permission to enter.”

“Who?”

“Captain Rogers.”

“What’s he doing here? The sun even up yet?” Tony grumbles as he grabs a cloth to clean a bit of oil off his hands. 

“Sunrise occurred at 6:39am, which was twenty-one minutes ago.”

“I’m so glad I restored your sass-settings, buddy.”

“As well as my sarcasm detectors, I presume.” J.J. continues after a beat. “Captain Rogers is holding a plate of breakfast food. Shall I let him in?”

“Yeah, go ahead…” 

Tony really assumed that Steve’s mother-henning would stop now that his team is here. Apparently not. Why Cap would bother, though, is beyond him – then again, most of Steve’s actions of the past week are beyond him. 

“Someone delivered groceries and Sam decided to cook breakfast,” is Steve’s explanation after wishing him a good morning. 

“You know, you’re not actually my nanny.”

Steve just breaks into a smile. With dimples. The sight does strange things to Tony’s pulse, so he distracts himself with a few bites of toast, eggs and bacon and gestures for Steve to make himself at home. 

For all the time the man has spent in Tony’s presence in the past week, he hasn’t been down to the workshop. Tony finds himself wondering if Steve ever has before. Maybe twice or three times, when Tony decided his motorcycle needed an overhaul. 

The workshop is pretty much still the same, probably has been since Tony moved in. It’s a huge, open-floor design with a number of workstations that right now are littered with lots of different projects, all abandoned and dusty where DUM-E can’t reach. Spending months upstairs rebuilding entire floors will do that, Tony figures. Though if the novel operating system works, maybe Tony can dust off some of these rudimentary ideas and tinker a bit? 

“I hope you don’t mind us staying for another night?” Steve’s hesitant voice is suddenly behind him, making Tony’s head snap around. “I mean, you said the wings are gonna take about a day or two, so I just assumed –”

“No, it’s fine,” Tony rushes to say. “Mi casa, su casa, all that shtick, whatever.”

“You sure? You seemed a little uncomfortable yesterday.”

Damn super attentive super-soldiers with their super sensibilities. Tony figures there is no point in lying. “Well, it’s what happens when the hermit realizes there’s more to civilization than food delivery services and cable TV.” 

Steve’s soft smile falters slightly, yet only for a split second. “I’m – I’m glad you stayed nevertheless.”

His tone sounds an awful lot like he wanted to say “proud” instead, but Tony swallows that thought down with a jug of his coffee before he can do anything stupid. Like blush. 

Thankfully, J.J. saves his dignity. 

“Sir, Mrs. Potts is on the line. She asked me to inform you that it is urgent.”

“Urgent? At this hour?” Tony narrows his eyes at the nearest screen, only to add a frown when he actually sees Pepper in the video call tab. She’s wearing an expression that’s usually reserved for embarrassing publicity-related fuck-ups, like vulgar jokes on live television or that time Tony accidentally destroyed an inflatable castle at that birthday party of that kid that won that competition that time. Yeah, he’s a bit fuzzy on the details. 

“Tony,” she manages before she blinks, her attention shifting. “Is that breakfast?”

“No need to sound so surprised, really –”

“Did Steve bring you that?”

Tony shoots the man a glare where he is standing out of the webcam’s reach, though there is no venom in it at all.

“You’ve trained him well,” Tony tells her before Steve can give in to the impulse of saying something like his parted lips suggest. Pepper doesn’t even raise an unimpressed eyebrow. “So, why are you gracing me with a call at the crack of dawn?” 

She hesitates. Shit, now Tony’s worried. 

“I guess you haven’t seen any newsfeeds today? What am I saying, you thought it was June just a week ago…”

“I resent that! I even know what day of the week it is!” In response to Pepper’s challenging expression, Tony adds, “Tuesday.” 

At least he’s ninety-eight percent sure. It seems to be right for Pepper doesn’t correct him. 

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” she says and it sounds too relieved for Tony’s liking. He wasn’t in that bad a state, was he? A little single-minded, admittedly, but it passed, or rather is passing, so… 

Pepper continues, unperturbed by Tony’s interior debate, “Unfortunately the press didn’t get that memo.”

“What –”

“I sent you the most important links per mail.”

“J.J.?”

The screen to the left lights up, and J.J. pulls up the relevant articles immediately. Steve takes a step closer to peer at the headlines over Tony’s shoulder and usually he’d blame the proximity for the way his skin grows hot, but it’s not. It’s the headlines. 

_RECLUSIVE HERO RESURFACES_ – declares the New York Times while Vanity Fair boasts _PHOTOS SHED LIGHT ON WHAT’S WRONG WITH TONY STARK_ , which are pretty much the tamest out there. 

_PICS SHOW JUST HOW MUCH ULTRON HURT TONY STARK_ almost hits too close to home, though others like _TOO SICK TO AVENGE?, BACK TO BOOZE?_ , or Tony’s personal favorite, _DID THE NUKE GIVE HIM CANCER?_ , aren’t much better. 

At the center of it all: reports of the Avengers fighting gigantic insects and a picture of Tony on the balcony taken the day before yesterday. Someone must have been watching the tower from one of the very few higher buildings for ages, hoping to catch a glimpse of him and then waiting for the perfect moment to sell it. _Worthless vultures_ , Tony thinks bitterly. 

It probably doesn’t help that he really looks like death warmed up in the photos. Pale, thin and frail, in grease-stained, old clothes. A far cry from the tailored suits and immaculately styled hair he usually presents to the public. 

“How’s our stock?” Tony asks when he remembers that Pepper is still on the line. 

“No need to worry about –”

“How many points?”

A beat. “Fifty-even.”

“Shit.”

Steve’s face is a study in confusion, mixed with a shot of disgust whenever his eyes dart towards the headlines again. Cap never approved of the bloodhounding qualities of twenty-first century press. 

Tony heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his hair, only to get his fingers stuck in a few matted strands. He should probably take a comb through it at some point. Then a question hits him. 

“Wait – Pepper, why’re you calling? I’m sure this isn’t the first time they’re speculating about, well, you know.”

“Until now PR has been able to keep the rumors down, but the genie’s out of the bottle, Tony.”

He bites his lower lip in the certainty that he won’t possibly like whatever follows that statement. 

“We need to make a statement.”

 _There you go._ Six words and Tony’s wishing for a glass of whiskey. Damn the lack of booze in the workshop… Stupid self-imposed rules. 

“So issue one,” he shoots back, deliberately obtuse. 

Pepper looks right through him. “Saying what? Admit publically that Iron Man is on hiatus, and see which villain is going to come running first?”

On Tony’s left, Steve’s back has straightened (which he thought impossible, seriously, that guy’s back is straighter than a conservative Republican from Mississippi) and he is crossing his muscular arms.

Tony opens his mouth to speak, but no sounds come out. 

“Or how do you want to explain your absence from the field yesterday? Right now they’re just saying you’re sick, but sooner or later they’re going to catch on that Iron Man isn’t really out there anymore.”

“Then I don’t need to make a decision today, do I?” he snaps, his tone several shades harsher than he usually tries to take with Pepper, but he follows it up with a swift “End call,” despite of it. Pepper doesn’t even do him the favor and look surprised before the feed cuts off. 

“Tony,” Steve whispers, uncrossing his arms and taking a step towards him but Tony anticipated it and immediately sidesteps him. 

“Sorry, gotta check on the simulations upstairs,” he calls over his shoulder on his way out of the workshop. He doesn’t turn back to check Steve’s reaction. 

* 

Look, Tony has never been particularly good at dealing with problems, alright? So what if he locks himself into the lab for a couple of hours and then hijacks the freight elevator to lock himself into the workshop for another few? 

“Sir, Captain Rogers is at the door again.”

“Which part about ‘lockdown mode’ do you not understand?” 

“He is bearing sustenance. According to my data you have not eaten in ten and a half hours, sir. My protocols suggest opening the door will have positive effects on your health.”

Tony curses under his breath. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re using your protocols as excuses to be a meddling bastard.”

“Captain Rogers is promising to leave you in peace if you just take the food. He added a please.”

“Screw it,” Tony groans, making a decision and stomping over to the door. “Open it,” he tells J.J., who complies a second later, revealing Steve in all his worried glory. 

He is in track pants and one of the SHIELD issued t-shirts that look two sizes too small on him and always make all the neurons in Tony’s brain cross. He’s also carrying a bowl and a frown. 

Tony snatches the food and returns to the workstation at the other side of the room, not really caring if Steve leaves or stays. 

“You can’t do that.”

So he stays. Brilliant. 

“I’m a billionaire,” Tony comments between bites of (admittedly, really awesome) chili, “you’ll find there’s pretty much nothing I can’t do.”

Steve looks utterly unimpressed. “You can’t go back to neglecting yourself like that, Tony. It’s not healthy.”

“Been working really well for me for years before you showed up.” It doesn’t come out as scathing as he intended, though. Instead he sounds rather whiny, which Tony hates. 

“Well, it doesn’t have to work any more –”

“Oh, so there’s no new training facility outside the city? Was I dreaming that? Wait, was the entire last year one giant hallucination? ‘Cos if yes, then whatever drugs I’m on? They suck.”

Steve huffs, his jaw clenched and chest rising in a way that should be intimidating but ends up being absolutely hot. _Get a grip, Stark_ , he mentally hisses at himself.

“What I mean,” Cap starts over, each word clipped as if he chose them in an excruciatingly tedious process, “is that I’m not leaving you alone again.”

Now _that_ makes Tony’s eyebrows climb up. “Again?”

Steve averts his eyes and the tips of his ears color slightly. “You shouldn’t have had to go for months without a visit.”

“It’s not like anyone made me,” Tony argues, because seriously, what the hell? “And I would’ve just ignored you if you’d come.”

“Be that as it may.” And wow, Steve seems _rueful_. Tony has no idea what’s going on in that guy’s head right now. “I’ve been acting solely as team captain these past months and forgot about being a friend. I’m sorry and it will never –”

“Woah, buddy, let me hold you right there,” Tony interrupts, abandoning the chili for good and getting to his feet. “Not even Rhodey did more than email, and you did check in. And did you already forget how I wasn’t really all there? You could’ve performed Star-Spangled Man with a group of can-can dancers and I wouldn’t have stopped and taken notice.”

The mental image is hilarious, Tony’s got to admit that, but this isn’t a situation to burst into laughter, especially when Steve’s just looking at him like that, as if someone killed Tony’s puppy and Steve doesn’t know whether to comfort him or hunt the fuckers down. 

“All the more reason to make sure you’re fine now.” 

“I am fine!” Tony insists, picking up the food again. “Look – I’m even eating! And I slept six hours last night!”

Steve’s expression makes clear just how much that should not be considered an accomplishment. “It’s alright not to be fine,” he says after a beat, his voice softer and warm. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Sure I do,” Tony replies a beat too quickly, gesturing with the hand not holding the chili. 

“Tony.”

“Steve.”

“I wasn’t fine.”

“What?” 

Tony does a double take as Steve leans his hip against the worktable and jams his hands into the pockets of his pants, hanging his head before he continues without meeting Tony’s eyes. 

“I wasn’t fine, not for a long, long time. I kept thinking I should want to be back in the forties, after we won the war, so we could celebrate and I could retire and go to that dance, but… I never really missed it. It was unfortunate, yes, and I missed my friends, but when Loki came I was finally useful again, you know?”

Tony has no idea how to reply to that, so he doesn’t. Steve presses on, as if he’s trying to get it out in a rush before he thinks better of it and stops. 

“I didn’t really get it until Wanda warped my mind. I saw… I was back, the war was over, we’d won and Peggy was there, and we danced but it was all so – empty. So final. I was obsolete. More of a fossil that I am now.” Steve looks up, more open and vulnerable that Tony has ever seen him. “Maybe that’s my dark side? That I need the war?”

Tony swallows. Hard. “Maybe.”

“What I’m saying is,” Steve continues after getting that Tony won’t say any more. “It’s fine if you’re not fine. You don’t need to hide it; give it that much power.”

Silence envelops them. For a few, stretched-out moments they just remain there, Tony standing and Steve propped up against the table, breathing evenly. It feels strangely intimate, and later Tony is going to blame the words that tumble out of his mouth on that particular mood. 

“I’m not ready to get back into the suit.”

Steve’s eyes meet his and there is no actual surprise in them, and no pity either. 

“I meant it when I said I’m tapping out.” Tony flails a bit, not sure what to do with his arms. “I see the suit and I think of Ultron and I just… I need a bit. I need to upgrade the systems, make sure J.J. is up for it, before I go back to being Iron Man.”

“But you _are_ going back?”

Tony’s reply is an eloquent half-shrug. Then he decides, _fuck it, that guy just bared his soul, I owe him a real explanation_.

“I wasn’t sure, before. All I could think about were the repairs. I didn’t plan ahead. But that thing yesterday… If AIM’s really still out there, you’re gonna need all the help you can get. Even mine.”

“What’s wrong with your help?”

Tony shoots him a self-deprecating smile. “You know that better than anyone, Cap.”

Of course (because needing the war or not, Steve Rogers is still a goody two-shoes) Steve opens his mouth, probably to protest, so Tony talks right over him. 

“Anyway – what I’m saying is: I’m still there for the Avengers, if you’ll have me. In a bit.”

“Barring emergencies?”

He hesitates, just briefly. “Barring emergencies.”

Steve nods and something warm settles in Tony’s chest. 

“So you will?” he feels compelled to make sure. At Steve’s confused expression, he clarifies, “Have me?” Tony hesitates. “On the team! ‘Cos that sounded weird. Didn’t that sound weird?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, it sounded weird or yes, you’ll still have me on the team?”

The corners of Steve’s mouth twitch. “Both.”

“Yeah, go ahead, laugh,” Tony jeers, feeling dizzy all of a sudden from the weight that’s been lifted of his shoulder and he didn’t even notice before. “I’m starting to see that dark side you mentioned.”

Steve actually does laugh, the sound flitting through the workshop, and if Tony were still a hormonal teenager he’d wax poetic about how warm and amazing Steve’s laugh sounds, but he’s 39 ( _45_ , a voice supplies that might be Pepper’s), so he doesn’t. 

Tony promises to call Pepper, and Steve leaves, waiting for Tony to finish the chili before taking the bowl with him. Tony’s eyes follow him out of the workshop, tracing broad shoulders, strong back muscles visible underneath the shifting fabric of his t-shirt, and eventually his butt. Just for a moment, _jeez_ – he just had his second heart-to-heart with Captain America within a couple of days, he deserves some ogling as a reward, okay? 

It’s only when he turns back towards the nearest screen to call Pepper that he registers just how fast his pulse is beating. 

_Oh fuck._ That’s going to be a problem, isn’t it?

*

 _Variety.com – 09/16/2015_

_**IRON MAN ON STANDBY**_  
_A public statement sheds light on the reasons behind Tony Stark’s continuous absence_

_Six months have passed since an artificial intelligence calling itself Ultron attempted to destroy the planet and was successfully thwarted by the Avengers. In the wake of the near-catastrophe (which cost the lives of seventy-three Americans), the Avengers Initiative relocated to a new facility in upstate New York, funded by Tony Stark and Stark Industries._

_Ever since then, however, there has been radio silence from the usually so public playboy. Unconfirmed rumors put part of the blame for Ultron on Stark: “There are maybe five people in the world capable of developing AI, and none of them withdrew in shame from the public eye after Ultron’s defeat,” says Raymond Kurzweil, AI-optimist turned pessimist, in an interview with Empire._

_Last night’s statement, issued by the speaker of Stark Industries, does not address these rumors but others that have surfaced after a picture of Tony Stark has made the rounds through every news outlet in the world. The picture shows Stark on the balcony of his suite of Avengers Tower, in dirty clothes, unkempt and sickly-looking. It marked the first time the man has been seen in public since May, when he returned from settling the Avengers into the facility driving a pre-release model of the new Audi R8 back to his New York residence._

_So how does Stark Industries explain all this?_  


>   
>  _“Avengers Tower has taken a profound hit during Ultron’s attacks. Mr. Stark has been overseeing the repairs and taken some time to heal from the battle of Sokovia._  
>  _In order to reduce the chance of further cyber attacks in any shape or form, he is also currently developing a new operating system for all Stark Industries issued products that will make them even more secure._  
>  _He is still a member of the Avenger Initiative in his role as Iron Man and will step in if the team under Captain Rogers requires his assistance. His first and foremost priority at the moment, however, is to get SI systems up to par."_  
> 

_Granted, the past few years have been busy ones for both Tony Stark and Iron Man, yet after the Mandarin incident in 2013, Stark did not spend months tucked away and rebuilding his bombed-out mansion. Is this really all that is going on?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The media bits are completely self-indulgent. Avengers vs. The Media might just be my favourite trope of all times :)
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting – you guys are the best!


	7. Reanimation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult ~~for reasons unknown to me~~. Writing romance is hard^^ I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> (Again, no disrespect meant to Sly. Sly is awesome. I’m with Rhodey on this.)

This little thing Tony noticed? It doesn’t become a problem. Or rather, Tony refuses to _let_ it become a problem, using the time-honored tradition of ignoring it until it goes away. 

Solving problems that way – or by throwing money at them – is probably the most valuable lesson Howard ever managed to impart on him, come to think of it. Which Tony tries not to, because he has better things to do… 

… like finishing up the repairs to Falcon’s wings including an upgrade that’ll allow Sam to shoot a few missiles mid-flight and that the man himself declares to be “Awesome, brother!” when Tony returns them Wednesday afternoon. Most of the team’s uniforms aren’t back yet from R&D who were tasked with cleaning them from hemolymph and other disgusting insect-related things that Tony really doesn’t want to think about, so Steve asks to stay another night with the team. Tony waves him off and nods before the other man even finished speaking. 

That evening he dives into the code again while the others are debating what movie to watch (Rhodey seems to be campaigning for Jurassic Park, but after gigantic insects no one’s in the mood for killer dinosaurs, apparently – their loss, Jurassic Park is awesome). Anyway, because of Vision’s feedback Tony believes he finally cracked how to make the new operating system connect with every application in existence, even the really shitty ones form Microsoft.

He loses himself in the work for hours, not unlike the last few months yet still entirely different. He’s just as focused, just as cautious, but somehow his mind is clearer. He sees more than only what’s immediately in front of him. 

It’s strange to say the least, wittingly programming something completely unprecedented after all that’s happened. Tony remembers a time when the thrill of inventing (and admittedly the knowledge of how impressed people would be with his work) sent shivers of anticipation down his spine and drove him to go on day-long inventive binges that worried Rhodey and Pepper but ignited a greedy fire in his shareholders’ eyes. 

Now, though? Yeah, it still feels good, _better than good_ , actually, to finally be back where he belongs, doing what he grew up doing. It’s not the same, though. Tony can’t really describe it – it’s just an eerie feeling, a sense of caution that makes him double-check everything, that had him willingly consult someone else, even if that someone is his own creation. 

“Sir, Captain Rogers asks if you want to join them in the communal kitchen for breakfast.”

Tony startles, blinking at the code he is currently checking for a third time to make sure he left enough comments for the guys over at the IT department to make sense of it all. 

“Time?”

“Eight o’clock, sir.”

Apparently he’s been down here for the past twelve hours. So much for his renewed ability of keeping up with the passage of time. 

“Tell him I’ll be up in a sec,” Tony resolves, then spends another couple of minutes checking the code before he detours through his suite for a shower and fresh clothes and takes the elevator back down again. Knowing J.J., he probably translated Tony’s “in a sec” into a more appropriate time frame, so he’s not actually late. 

The kitchen is packed when he arrives and Tony would love to avoid the masses but he has decidedly too much blood in his caffeine system and he spies a fresh pot on the counter. 

Rhodey joins him while he is downing the first cup of many to come, looking grim. 

“Tones, the world is lost.”

It would have startled Tony if he weren’t still too familiar with Rhodey’s ‘don’t worry this is actually a joke’ voice to panic, so he merely raises an eyebrow. 

“They picked the second Die Hard over Tango and Cash last night! Willis over Stallone, what’s the world coming to?”

“We voted! Don’t you go complaining to the landlord,” Sam calls across the room from where he is distributing bacon to hungry yet well-rested looking Avengers. 

“What’s the point of democracy if the results it gets are wrong?” Rhodey calls back, prompting Tony to quip, “Does the President know how you really feel about his society’s form of government?” 

“Shush, you. You never liked Sly as much as I did.”

“Yeah, ‘cos I like my actors to, you know, _act_ in movies.”

It’s an old argument from times long passed, but they fall back into the banter effortlessly and by the time Natasha declares both Bruce Willis and Sylvester Stallone inferior fighters to herself, successfully ending the debate, Tony feels more awake.

Which proves to be invaluable since Steve wanders over with a plate of food, pushing it none too subtly towards Tony across the kitchen counter. Steve, this time in jeans and a button down, leans back, propping himself up on the counter top and looking at Tony expectantly. 

He glares back, though all Steve does is raise his eyebrows higher and, when Tony still doesn’t move, his expression morphs into something that would be a pout on a five-year-old but on Captain America it just looks plain wrong. 

“Jeez, okay, fine, sustenance, I got it,” Tony surrenders, throwing up his hands and abandoning his coffee for the food. 

Rhodey blinks at him. Tony has half a second to panic yet his best friend bites his tongue, thank the gods, seriously, it’s too early for such a comment (or late, depending on how you look at it). It’s always going to be too early since Tony is still firmly strapped to the Ignoring The Problem Train. 

Steve clears his throat, pulling Tony’s attention back towards him. “We have to head back to the facility today, get back to training.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony manages around a bite of toast. 

“I wanted to ask if you’d like to join us?”

He finishes chewing, taking his time so he is able to work through possible answers that aren’t a panicked “No!”, and finally settles on, “Not right now, sorry. Still got one last floor to repair, though that’s mostly cosmetic.”

The hint of disappointment only flickers across Steve’s face for a second and is gone so quickly that Tony decides it must have been wishful thinking on his part. 

“Alright. But the invitation stands. We would love to have you there.” Steve’s tone is so earnest that it makes something warm unfurl in Tony’s chest. “And, uh,” he averts his eyes briefly before redirecting them at Tony. “I’ll stay in touch this time, and not just to pass on questions from Tech. I promise.”

“Me, too,” Rhodey adds. For a moment there Tony forgot he was still in the vicinity. “Expect at least one call a week, Tones.”

“You’re spoiling me,” Tony quips back for lack of anything better to say. Steve’s tone was sincere and kind of reminiscent of last night in the workshop when he talked about his vision. “But, yeah. I’ll look forward to that.”

_Smooth, Stark._

Steve doesn’t seem to mind that Tony apparently sucks at gratitude, just smiles (those dimples again, _damn_ ) and returns to the table to gather empty dishes. 

Tony quells the inexplicable urge to call him back and instead tackles the rest of his breakfast. 

*

Steve manages to hold out until that night before he gives into the urge to check on Tony. 

His thumb hovers over the contact for two seconds of indecision, then the dial tone rings out. His phone is not on speaker but Steve’s hearing still picks up on it. 

“Hey Cap,” Tony greets him moments later, his tone more worried than Steve would like, as if he didn’t expect Steve to call so soon for anything less than an emergency. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” he assures, cursing himself. Maybe he should have waited more than twelve hours before calling. “Just wanted to check in.”

He can hear the sigh at the other end, as well as the rustling of tools and wire. “Seriously, Steve, I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself for a day, jeez –”

“Have you eaten since we left?”

“- would think I’m a – what?”

Steve smirks. “Food, Tony. I can ask J.J. if you don’t remember.”

“Course I remember! Genius here, okay, I can tell you the first sixty digits of pi, _at the least_ , so don’t you dare question –”

“Your last meal was breakfast, wasn’t it?” Tony huffs on the other side and confirms Steve’s suspicions. “Order something. Or better yet, check the kitchen; I’m sure there’s lots left from the deliver this morning.”

Tony puts up a token protest before reluctantly leaving whatever room he is in with Steve still on the line, but then again Steve didn’t expect anything else. 

“Is this what my life has come to now?” Tony’s voice asks against the background hum of the elevator. “Captain America checking up on me once a day to see if I’ve thought of dinner?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” Steve argues, only slightly surprised to find he is being sincere. Tony seems to understand that as well, since he grouses. There is no heat in it, though, and Steve has to fight a chuckle. 

“Well, you’ve got yourself one hell of a job then, Cap, ‘cos lots of people have tried this before and no one’s ever had much luck. Even Pepper gave up! Well, granted, I made her CEO so she simply doesn’t have the time anymore to watch my every move, but –”

“I faced Hydra, Tony, I’m sure your bad habits won’t give me much trouble.”

He hears a snort, tinged in self-doubt and resignation that Steve noticed before these past few days, and just like those times something clenches inside his chest. It’s one more reason why he failed the Avengers: not noticing just how much of a show Tony puts on day in and day out. 

“Well, mission accomplished, Capsicle. I’m in the kitchen. I’ll have J.J. send you a picture of my sandwich, alright?”

“Good,” Steve agrees with a smile. The call terminates not long after that and by the time Steve has produced his sketchbook and pencils, his phone lights up with a message. It’s the promised picture, but is also features Tony, sitting on a high chair at the kitchen counter, looking up into J.J.’s camera and pointing at the sandwich in front of him with a smirk that is somewhere between amused and exasperated. 

Something settles in the pit of Steve’s stomach at the sight, warm and pleasant, and he is pretty sure that it means something, but he decidedly ignores it. He saves the picture, however, and sets it as Tony’s contact image. 

*

It takes a week of phone calls and text messages for Steve to realize that checking up on Tony has become a thing. 

He texts about breakfast and dinner, asks if Tony slept that night and “tsk”s when the answer is negative. He tells Tony about training and group activities – tentatively at first because he can still remember the tone in which the man commented on the ‘new’ Avengers, then less hesitantly as it becomes clear that Tony is feeling less and less awkward about that particular topic. 

Tony, in turn, tells Steve about the progress on the last floor, which is being a bit delayed due to several requests for Tony’s input from the R&D department who seem to have caught on to the fact that their boss is available for that again. The young Stark still sounds different from how Steve remembers him pre-Ultron, yet his tone grows passionate again whenever he explains about the upgrades he is envisioning to go along with the software upgrade and the new StarkPhone and StarkPad product line (“Retina scans, Steve! Suck that, Touch ID!”), and he complains more each day about the incompetence that abounds with R&D. 

He also laughs louder, the sound rich and full in his ear as Steve recounts how Nat beat Vision at poker and left him absolutely puzzled as to _how_. 

One week bleeds into two, bleeds into two and a half and for the first time, Tony initiates the call one Thursday morning. 

“Tony? Is everything –?” Steve begins only to be cut off by a panicked-sounding gasp. 

“It’s done,” Tony stammers. “The floor’s done. I rebuilt the tower, there’s nothing left to repair.”

_Oh._ Steve sucks in a deep breath, wishing Sam were in eyeshot. He is the expert on trauma recovery, Steve just runs on instinct. 

“Congratulations,” he replies, making sure that his voice is steady. “So you can check over the armor?”

“I – what?”

“You mentioned it last week – that you hadn’t checked it since May.”

Tony is quiet for a moment, then exhales a stuttered breath. “Yeah, that’s right. The armor.”

Not for the first time, Steve desperately wants to just drive down his bike to Avengers tower, because Tony’s voice waivers and rasps, not unlike after the panic attack, and Steve hates that there is no one in Tony’s vicinity to be there for him physically. 

He cannot push, though, as much as he’d love to just take Tony and drag him to the new HQ, where the man even has his own suite and private workshop, planned into the construction long before Ultron came and tore Tony Stark to the ground. Steve fears that if he pushed he would destroy all the progress Tony has made in the last few weeks, and that is something he cannot be responsible for. Steve has made enough mistakes in this lifetime, and in the last. 

Sunday, he swears to himself after Tony blabbed about the suit for ten minutes and eventually ended the call to go tinker, sounding calmer and steadier. Steve will drive down on Sunday; bring Rhodey with him. Maybe indulge them and watch that dinosaur movie. 

Steve smiles at the rising sun through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the mess hall. Sunday. 

*

The universe, how else could it possibly ever be, has other plans.

“Approaching Avengers tower, T minus two minutes,” Natasha informs them over the coms and Steve’s grip tightens on Rhodey’s armor-free hand. 

“Two more minutes, Jim,” Steve assures him as the Colonel groans in pain. 

It is Friday, rush hour, yet the hum of the quinjet blocks out the sounds of the city that float up to the landing pad where Tony is standing, stock still and pale. There is only the hint of a hint of hesitation to his step before he runs across the platform and accepts Sam’s hand up into the jet. 

“What the hell happened?” Tony snaps, at his best friend’s side immediately. 

Steve hates that the first time Tony leaves the tower in months will forever be overshadowed by a one in a million shot to War Machine’s armor. 

“The projectile hit the weakest part of the armpit,” Steve explains as curtly as possible. “He managed to land but the armor’s been jammed ever since. He’s losing blood but we didn’t want to remove anything in caste that made it worse.”

“Good call,” Tony mumbles, eyes cataloguing the damage. 

The suit absorbed most of the blast, Steve thinks, but the metal twisted and some of it seems to be piercing Jim’s skin and the armor’s automatic detachment protocol has apparently failed. 

“Rhodey, listen to me, buddy,” Tony tells his friend who is struggling to keep his eyes open. “Won’t take long, I’ll get everything but the shoulder plates off first, don’t wanna damage you any more than you already are, just hang in there and don’t die on us, you hear me?”

“Aye,” is Rhodey whispered promise. 

It takes them five more minutes to reach the facility where a medical team is waiting, though by that time Tony has already removed everything but the damaged shoulder parts, which he told Steve to hold in place. Rhodey’s undershirt is soaked with blood. 

“T minus ninety seconds,” Nat tells them just as Tony whips out some sort of scanning device and points it at Jim’s left shoulder. 

It looks kind of familiar, but it takes Rhodey’s chuckle-turned-cough and Tony’s “It’s a prototype; been tweaking this for R&D, shut up, of course we’re building a tricoder,” to remember he saw something similar on that Star Trek show. 

Whatever the scans show has Tony’s brow furrow, then even out, though before he can comment, they touch down on the designated landing platform and their medical staff transfers Rhodey to a gurney, taking over Steve’s grip on the remaining pieces of armor while Tony hands them the tricoder and rattles off it’s readings. 

“We’ll debrief in medical,” Steve orders the others, then rushes after his hurt teammate. 

*

Tony has no time to feel anything about being outside the tower, and once he does it is drowned by a constant chorus of _Rhodey fuck be okay that wasn’t supposed to happen why did the shot damage the suit it can’t be more reinforced he’ll lose motion range Rhodey you gotta be okay_ inside his head. 

The others join him outside the operating room. Steve is the first, still in full uniform sans cowl, which is caked with dirt below the knee. They don’t talk, just wait until an indeterminable amount of time later a nurse emerges to tell them they got the bleeding under control and Colonel Rhodes is going to make a full recovery. 

Tension leaves every single one of them, pooling at their feet and rooting Tony to the spot. He shouldn’t be here. The place feels foreign to him, walls closer than he remembers them from the blueprints. 

“Tony?”

Steve extends his hand, telegraphing the movement until he reaches Tony’s shoulder, where his palm feels heavily but not unwelcome. 

“Join the debrief?”

He wants to say no, argue that he’s not an Avenger anymore but he knows that’d be stupid because he needs to know what happened so he can repair War Machine, improve it, make sure Rhodey is never going to have to go through something like this again. So he follows wordlessly. 

Tony pieces the picture together from everyone’s comments over the course of the next twenty minutes: AIM attacked SHIELD’s cemetery west of New York. No one knows how they knew the location but the investigation has commenced. AIM accessed the area through the ground, attempting to bypass the security at the gates, but an attentive gardener noticed the minute tremors and informed the guard. By the time the Avengers reached the cemetery, AIM had already killed the first police officers on site. 

“They retreated the way they came.” Natasha sounds pissed, which anticipates what she’s saying next. “Blew up the tunnel so we couldn’t follow. Teams are scouring the surrounding areas in case they resurface, but I doubt we’ll catch them.”

“Yeah, but what were they looking for?” Sam asks before Tony can. His limbs feel heavy. “Why a cemetery?”

“My brother.”

Everyone turns towards Wanda who has stayed silent until now. There is a bruise forming on her cheek and her eyes are alight with power, slivers of scarlet mist rising from her hands. The sight should probably scare Tony, but he’s hacked enough training feeds to know that the witch is firmly on their side. 

Steve closes his eyes, cradling his face in his gloved hands. “Pietro was buried there,” he says, his voice dull. “AIM took his body.”

“What the hell?” Sam cuts in. “Why?”

Wanda doesn’t reply, too overcome with emotion from what Tony can see, but she glances at Vision who says, “Hydra applied a considerable amount of resources to Pietro and Wanda’s enhancements. It would seem as if they wanted him back.”

“But,” Sam begins, then hesitates with an apologetic glance at Wanda. “I mean – he’s dead.”

“They managed to keep Bucky alive for seventy years.” Steve’s voice is hollow and Tony has the sudden urge to put an arm around his shoulders. He stays where he is. “You really think they’ll let something like death stop them?”

Sam exhales slowly. “Fuck.”

No one pipes up to call him out on it. It’s not the time for jokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … yes, this is going to be a Pietro Lives fix-it, too, because I just saw the film for a third time and it’s still not okay. I also upped the chapter count because my characters high jacked the next chapter and turned part of it into 2k worth of fluff^^


	8. Atonement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My eternal gratitude to all of you who have given kudos and subscribed, and especially to my dear commentators! You all motivate me immensely :D
> 
> Here come the promised 2k of fluff – be careful not to drown! There is also a little surprise at the end of the chapter… 
> 
> PS: Sokovia is not a real place, but since (according to the internet) the signs in AoU have been written in Serbian Cyrillic I have decided that people in Sokovia speak Serbian.

“Go ahead, try it.”

Wanda doesn’t narrow her eyes, but by the look of it it’s a near thing. Tony has to force himself to keep still or otherwise he would be jumping up and down in excitement. Well, maybe not jumping, he’s not _that_ excited, but there is a pretty decent level of anticipation thrumming underneath his skin. 

Wanda steps into the open space of the training room, poised for attack. When it comes (in the form of incredibly detailed holograms that are also lighting fast ‘cos Tony is _awesome_ ), she ducks and shoots an energy blast at the projection. She mutters something in Serbian when she misses, then progresses to a grumble as the target keeps evading her attacks. 

When she eventually grows annoyed enough to really show off, the hologram crumbles under the onslaught of telekinetic energy (no matter what Steve and Sam say, it’s _not_ magic, there’s _no such thing_ , just science we don’t understand yet, okay?). Before Tony’s modification, the projections didn’t disappear after having effectively been killed off unless given a voice command, so the new feature was totally worth the all-nighter Tony just pulled. The targets are also five times faster, but that’s just a nice side effect of the new operating system (which Tony installed the night before last – he couldn’t pass up a chance to have it actually tested by such a heterogenic pool of people like there are at the facility and he figures if anything goes wrong, who best to deal with it than a bunch of SHIELD agents and the New Avengers?). 

“That is helpful,” Wanda finally declares, her accent less thick than Tony remembers. She’s not smiling but his hopes were never that high to begin with. 

He spreads his hands and smirks. “Helpful’s my middle name!”

“Your middle name is Edward,” Vision pipes up from the door, and it’s such a Jarvis thing to say that it makes something constrict in Tony’s chest. 

He masks it with a quick quip about removing Vision’s sarcasm protocols, then leaves the Scarlet Witch (which is still a _stupid_ nickname, for previously stated reasons) and Vision to play with the new program. He has a feedback loop hooked to the servers back at the tower so he’ll be able to check it for any bugs. 

Tony’s grip on the tablet tightens, his knuckles turning white. He needs to get back. He’s been here at the facility since Saturday night and now it’s Tuesday, and the time away from the safety of familiar surroundings and J.J. and maybe even DUM-E is making his skin itch. His quarters here are sterile to him, but well, they’ve stood empty since his departure in May so what did he expect… Though even back then the hallways seemed to be taunting him, a reminder cast in concrete of the time when Tony was planning the construction and the tower in New York was full of life and laughter. 

Tony only stayed because of Rhodey, whose new, modified suit is already being assembled in the labs on site. The man himself, however, is still in medical, to be released this afternoon. As his best friend Tony saw it as his duty to supply Rhodey with extra helpings of infirmary pudding and his own witty presence. 

“Hey.”

Tony blinks back to his surroundings, which apparently are one of the communal areas reserved for the team, currently only occupied by Steve. The man looks nothing like Captain America at the moment – not in soft, light grey sweat pants and a looser-than-usual navy blue t-shirt that’d probably bring out his eyes if Tony were closer. Steve is tucked into a corner, leaning against the large window with his right shoulder and the wall with his back. 

Tony is about to mumble a greeting in return when his eyes fall on the thing in Steve’s lap. 

“Is that a sketchbook?”

Steve tilts his head, glancing down at the book in his left hand and the pencil in his right. “Yes?”

Now that Tony is paying attention he sees a lot more art supplies littering the space around where Steve is sitting. 

“You draw? No, wait, I knew that,” Tony answers immediately after posing the question because he does know, doesn’t he, he’s just never seen Steve draw in real life, so to speak. 

Steve ducks his head. “Have to use my salary for something, right?”

“Bet you love the quality of art stuff in the future. Stuff? Equipment? Supplies?”

“Supplies,” Steve says with a smile tugging at his lips. He seems relaxed, at home in his skin. Tony envies him for that a little. 

“May I see?” he asks into the silence that was descending on them. 

Strangely enough, Steve’s cheeks color at that. It’s a good look on him, Tony thinks, then shushes that particular train of thought. 

“It’s, uh, nothing great, really.”

Contrary to his hesitance, however, Steve tips the sketchbook, revealing what Tony believes to be called a ‘study’ – multiple images, all showing a metal arm in different angles. Tony connects it immediately to the still elusive assassin that Steve’s hunting. Or looking for. Tony believes that might be the more apt term. 

“You drawing that from memory?” he asks, lowering himself into a crouch so that he and Steve are on the same level, with an appropriate amount of distance between them. Well, appropriate by Tony’s definition, which puts him pretty close to Steve if he’s being honest. 

“Yes. I’ve always been good at that. Serum also helped.”

“You’re really good,” Tony says, and watches in amusement as the blush spreads further. 

“Thank you.”

“No, seriously – I’ve seen a lot of paintings and stuff in my life and that’s definitely up there with the best things I’ve seen.” Tony’s not even lying, which makes Steve’s flustered reaction even more delightful. “Can I see some more?”

For a guy who leaps off motorcycles and throws himself at aliens without batting an eyelash, Steve is terribly bashful when it comes to his drawings. He doesn’t hand over the sketchbook and hides it from Tony’s view when he is leafing through it, and there’s always a pause to his movements when he presents the current picture. 

It’s endearing and human and takes Tony’s breath away and makes him want to do stupid, _stupid_ things, like shuffle closer or accidentally bump Steve’s shoulder with his own. Or kiss – 

No. Nope. Just – no. Not going there. 

“Uh,” Steve says eloquently, hiding the next image from view. So far Tony has seen incredibly expressive renderings of all the Avengers, Wanda’s bursting with color and so vibrant that Tony feared she’d be leaping off the page, yet not once has Steve been this hesitant. 

“Steve, come on, they were all amazing, no need to be shy about that one, I doubt you could screw this up if you tried! Come on, now you’ve got me curious.”

Tony looks Steve straight into the eye, hoping his own will telegraph enough sincerity for Steve trust him with this. Tony gets it – he’s incredibly protective of his own work, even after it’s finished. Probably comes from a time when his first audience was always his father, who wouldn’t accept anything short of perfection and didn’t withhold criticism, no sir, not one bit. 

Whatever Steve sees in Tony’s expression seems to suffice for he turns the sketchbook over and holds it out to Tony, who takes it before really processing what he is seeing. 

It’s him. A drawing of him. He’s in the workshop, left hand still resting on the keyboard of one of the computers on the right side of the picture, the other outstretched to manipulate something about the blown up code his penciled self is working on. The background is mostly hinted at, obvious enough if you know what the workshop looks like, but the foreground with Tony, the computers and the projection is rich in detail and expression. Drawing-Tony’s brow is creased and he is worrying the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth. 

He is so fascinated that it takes a moment to realize that Steve is talking.

“- and I couldn’t get the hologram exactly right, but I never really understood the projection so I couldn’t remember, but –”

“It’s beautiful.” Tony smiles, handing the sketchbook back. 

Steve accepts it almost unconsciously, because most of his attention seems to be focused on gaping at Tony. It’s adorable, really. 

He watches Steve’s Adam’s apple move as the man swallows. “Thank you.”

Yup, and that’s Tony’s cue to flee or he actually might so something of the epically stupid variety. 

“Well, I gotta run and check on Rhodey’s suit,” he announces after a beat, rolling to his feet. “You have fun with your pencil.” Tony stops, frowning down at where Steve is looking up at him. “Pretend I said something less ambiguous.”

That, at least, gets the other man to chuckle, and the strange atmosphere between them that tries to lure Tony into utterly unwise life decision dissipates. 

*

Tony stays for dinner, but only because Rhodey asks him to. It’s his first team meal out of the infirmary and even though Pepper called and has a press release regarding the new generation of Stark products for him to look over (also known as “rewrite”, ‘cos the PR people never manage to get across just how mind-blowing some of the features are), and even though he can imagine a hundred less awkward social gatherings, Tony stays. 

It’s not so bad, in the end. Wanda and Vision are the quiet ones (although they do comment favorably on Tony’s training software upgrade) while Sam and Rhodey bicker amicably, interspersed with dry remarks from Natasha and happy smiles from Steve. Tony helps Rhodey’s campaign for the team to watch Jurassic Park once Rhodey has recovered enough to actually sit through the movie and waves them goodbye at the end of the meal. 

“How’re you gonna get back?” Sam asks as Tony’s getting up from the table. “I didn’t see your armor suitcase.”

“Given that I’m paying a chunk of their salary, I figured one of your pilots can deal with flying me back.”

“They’re not your chauffeurs, Tony,” Steve admonishes, to the surprise of exactly no one. “I’ll fly you back.”

“They’re whatever I say they are - wait, what?” 

“I can fly a quinjet. It’s no problem.”

Tony flounders, trying – and failing – to come up with a legitimate reason to prevent Steve from flying him home other than _I want to kiss you badly enough as it is_. 

Fifteen minutes later Tony is sitting in the co-pilot seat watching Captain America play taxi driver. 

“So,” he says on an exhale, “any word on Barnes?” Tony hopes that’s a safe topic. 

Steve’s jaw clenches minutely and his expression darkens, though; so maybe not. “Last we heard he was seen in Indonesia. Reports came in yesterday, but he’ll be gone already. Before that he was in Mongolia.”

“Mongolia?”

A bitter smile twists Steve’s lips. “That’s what I said.”

“Well, you’ll find him, given time.”

“I’m not so sure anymore. I think he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Yet.”

Cap doesn’t answer and they fall silent, only the noise of the jet filling the cockpit. Too soon (or not soon enough, depending on which part of Tony’s replying at the moment), the tower comes into view and Steve brings down the quinjet expertly on the landing pad. 

Tony is contemplating what kind of signal he’d be sending if he asked Steve to come in, respectively how much of a risk doing that would be to his sanity, though the point becomes moot when an envelope appears under Tony’s nose. 

He narrows his eyes, glances up to take in the trepidation etched into Steve’s features, then carefully opens the unsealed envelope and pulls out the piece of paper inside, not even noticing that he’s just been handed something. 

It’s the drawing. The drawing of him. 

“You liked it so much; I wanted you to have it.” 

“Uh –”

Steve is blushing again, _oh damn, that man needs to stop doing that_. “You don’t need to hang it or anything, I just –”

“No, too late, I already know a spot for it,” Tony cuts him off with a grin. He feels light, somehow, the weight that has settled on his shoulders when he reached the facility three days ago lifting in the blink of an eye. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tony has no idea what to say, let alone what to do, even though he really wants to hug Steve – and that shouldn’t be possible because Tony is not someone who hugs, _ever_ , so he just nods with a smile and slides out of his seat and eventually, the jet. 

He gives Steve a tiny and potentially awkward wave that he tried to suppress but obviously failed, yet Steve actually returns the gesture before lifting the bird off the pad and taking off, leaving Tony standing there, clutching the envelope. 

_Fuck._ He is so, so screwed. 

*

**_May 29th, 2015 – Maluk Island, Banda Sea, Indonesia_ **

On Tony’s birthday, Bruce buys a single Margarita and lifts the glass to the horizon before taking a sip. 

He buries his bare toes in the hot sand and lets his eyes roam over the deep blue water stretching out in front of him. He is still in sight of the bar, though Bruce knows that the barman is not going to ask any questions. 

The only question that man has ever asked was “Can you help my wife?” and then taken Bruce’s word for it when he responded in broken Ambonese. 

She is almost healed now, which is good given that Rizki is due to return to Teluk Ambon soon. He hopefully managed to fetch as high a price for the quinjet wheels as expected and thus will still be amenable to taking Bruce with him on his next trip to Java. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” Rizki announced several days ago – thankfully in flawless Basha Indonesia – after Bruce had explained how many other parts of the plane still remained in his possession on an island without a market for it. “I transport you and your freight to Java and in return you give me sixty percent.”

“I’ll give you no more than forty.”

Bruce can still hear Rizki’s laughter echo in his ears. Eventually, they agreed on fifty percent and no extra fees for room and board on Rizki’s ship. 

Bruce drinks the rest of his cocktail, twirling the glass in his hands as he contemplates the ocean. Tony won’t mind him re-appropriating the jet – Bruce dismantled all missiles and weapons before telling anyone about it to ensure they would never hurt anyone. 

He just hopes that Tony is doing well. 

*

**_September 30th, 2015 – Surabaya, East Java, Indonesia_ **

His neck prickles. Bruce senses the Hulk shifting underneath his skin, poised to attack whoever it is that is watching. 

The Other Guy will not be required, though – this is not the first time someone intends to rob him in the past few months of moving from place to place, healing whom he can and using the money from his sell to buy gauze and antibiotics and vaccinations. Thanks to Steve, Clint and Natasha he is proficient enough in hand-to-hand combat that street thugs are no threat to his human self, puny as it may be. 

“Walk away. You will regret if you don’t,” Bruce says into the dim twilight of dusk, using the local dialect just to make sure he is being understood. 

All the bigger is his surprise when the person behind him replies in English. 

“I’m not here to harm you.”

Bruce’s breath catches. He knows that voice – heard it once, back in the tower, when he found Steve on the sofa in the middle of the night, watching old footage from the front. The screen had shown a young, handsome soldier with dark hair and lively eyes telling a story with flourish to his brothers in arms. Steve was enthralled, his expression sad and rueful and broken. 

Bruce had left the room before Steve could notice him, though researched the man later. So it makes no sense. It can’t be – 

“You’re a hard man to find, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce turns slowly, gradually. Metal gleams, reflecting the light from the windows adorning the façade on either side of them. The alley is narrow. 

“Sergeant Barnes.” 

There is no mistaking him. He looks just like in the footage from Washington, though his face is unmasked and his hair even longer, more matted. He has the slightest hint of a tan covering his cheeks and nose. 

Barnes eyes twitch slightly. “You know who I am.”

It wasn’t a question, so Bruce does not answer. The other man takes two steps in his direction, putting himself more into the light. 

“And you know me, so that just leaves why you thought sneaking up on the Hulk was such a good idea.”

“Wouldn’t be the first stupid idea I’ve had, Dr. Banner.” Barnes’ tone is light, teasing even, and that confuses Bruce more than anything has up to this point. 

“You remember, then?”

Barnes raises his right shoulder, the organic one, in a half-shrug. “It’s come back to me. Only got flashes from most missions though. Some kills.”

He does not say it as a threat. Besides, not even the Winter Soldier would win against the Hulk, and Barnes seems to be smart enough to be fully aware of that.

When Barnes remains silent, Bruce raises his eyebrows in the hopes of prompting him to explain why he is cornering Bruce of all people in a dark alley in East Java. 

The sergeant draws himself up to his full height, which is a couple of inches above Bruce who braces himself for… he truly could not fathom. 

“I remember enough about Hydra to fight them,” is what Barnes says, his tone hard and grim. 

“Is that were you’ve been?” When the soldier nods, Bruce just can’t help his curiosity. “Why? I mean – why alone? At least Steve would have –“

\- but Barnes is flexing his metal hand and shaking head vehemently. “He’s – I… Not yet.”

Bruce’s instincts are urging him not to pry, so he doesn’t. They stay silent for several moments with only the evening noise from the main streets for company. It is Barnes who breaks the quiet. 

“There is a Hydra facility on an island near the Bali Sea. It is more populated than any other I’ve taken and more secure. I won’t manage alone.”

He sounds as if it pains him to admit, but Bruce couldn’t care less at the moment. 

“So what, you thought you’d come to me? How the hell did you even find me?”

“Rumors of an American who heals. Stark aeronautics turning up on markets. You’re not as inconspicuous as you think.”

Shit. Bruce bites the inside of his cheek. 

“And?” Barnes asks. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“What, because of what happened in Africa? I thought that was that witch’s doing.”

Bruce blinks. How does this guy even know all that? 

“You don’t understand,” he grits out. “The Other Guy’s not your standard type of reinforcements. He can’t be contained.”

“Good thing Hydra opened up shop on a deserted island, then.”

“He’ll hurt you.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

“I _can’t_.”

Barnes observes him for a few seconds, his face still as relaxed as his posture. “I think you’re just afraid. Of what, though? It’s been months since your last incident. Curing the sick is nice and all, but I’m offering you the chance to do more than that – atonement.”

Bruce is already shaking his head before Barnes has even finished speaking. “No, there’s no way for me to make up for – there’ll never –” He stops, taking a deep breath. “I’m a monster. I shouldn’t even be here, but the Hulk won’t let me die so I got to do _something_.”

The Winter Soldier seems unimpressed. “Might as well do something more effective, you know, in the grand scheme of things,” he comments flippantly, and some of the attitude Bruce remembers seeing in the footage seeps through Barnes’ demeanor. “Come on, man, one base? One Hydra base? Just help me take out this one and see how it goes. I’ll erase all security footage – okay, I always do that, but I’ll take extra special care so your little buddies a few continents over won’t know it was you.”

“I’ve killed enough people!” Bruce growls and great, he can feel his anger mounting, he needs to get out of the street, away from this _idiot_. 

Barnes just spreads his hands, apparently completely unperturbed by the way Bruce eyes must be sparkling. “No problem, man. You smash the walls and the equipment, I kill the bad guys.”

Bruce takes off in a run. 

*

Three days later, Barnes finds him again. 

Their eyes meet across the crowded street after nightfall. Bruce glances down at his hands. There is blood underneath his fingernails. He didn’t want to take up more of the family’s time than necessary, not after he failed to safe their daughter. Bruce could heal fifty, a hundred… and even more will still die. He cannot save them all, not like this. 

Atonement, Barnes said. He doesn’t seem like a man who has found it yet, let alone a man who believes it is on the cards for him. 

That’s fine, though. Bruce knows he will never be forgiven either. 

He crosses the street. Barnes nods and leads the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~If I could draw I’d add some fan art~~ Bucky’s characterization was difficult. I just went with what my gut told me… I hope it works outside of my head.  
>  The margarita draws on Tony’s comment about Bruce lying on a beach and “turning brown instead of green” after their hypothetical Ultron achieved world peace. 
> 
> Chapter 9 will follow soon. I just want to have most of chapter 10 written to ensure continuity before posting. So probably Thursday? 
> 
> Until then - **a bit of self-advertising:** I finally started posting the Bondlock AU [“Loyal In Adversity”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3939010/chapters/8826958) which I’ve been writing before AoU derailed me. The first part of it is finished and will be updated Tuesdays and Fridays. If you like Sherlock and/or James Bond, especially Johnlock and 00Q, you might enjoy it!


	9. Moving on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Change of plans, y’all: The plot got away from me (as in, Bucky and Bruce high jacked chapter 10 and doubled it in size) and it all ended up being longer than anticipated, so there will be 11 chapters instead of 10. What follows is the calm before the storm, so enjoy…
> 
> And I really wish I could draw as well as I imagine Steve to be able to draw. You’ll have to do without visual aids… not for Natasha’s new hair style, though, which looks something like [this](http://i2.dailyrecord.co.uk/incoming/article5509648.ece/ALTERNATES/s1227b/sarlett-johansson.jpg).

Steve can’t stop drawing Tony. He fills page after page with pencil and charcoal, basing his sketches off memory or pulling up the footage from Tony’s visit. He draws him immersed in work, smiling into his third cup of coffee, repairing something with his brow furrowed and his lip caught between his teeth. 

Steve has only ever drawn two people this excessively. The first was Bucky, though only for a short period after they first met, during a sickness spell that bound Steve to the bed with nothing but Bucky’s company and his sketchbook. The second was Peggy, during the war.

And now it’s Tony. 

The implications scare him in a way nothing has ever scared him before.

“You’ve been drawing an awful lot lately, Steve.”

His head snaps up and he reflexively shields the picture from prying eyes even though he doubts that Nat somehow miraculously missed who the lines are supposed to show.

He wants to come up with a witty reply, but he forgets what he was about to say when his eyes land on Natasha’s hair. 

Judging by her expression he better think twice about what he is going to say, yet he really doesn’t need to filter his response. 

“It looks good. Swell, even,” he adds with a smirk. 

Her eyes soften almost unnoticeably. “Thank you.”

“Damn, Nat!” Sam calls from across the room as he enters the kitchen. “You look awesome in blonde.”

Steve places his sketchbook on the counter, flipped so that only the back cover is showing, and goes to make a new pot of coffee. If Sam is here, then – 

“Woah, what did you do?”

Yes, then Rhodey can’t be far behind. A glance over his shoulder shows that Wanda and Vision have also joined the group. 

“It’s called a hair cut, Rhodey,” Nat snarks. She still looks relaxed and good-tempered, but Steve knows her well enough to see her walls threatening to slide back up. 

Wanda walks around her with a soft smile, taking in the new style from all angles. “I like it,” she declares, earning her a grin from the other woman. 

“No, no, sorry, it looks great,” Rhodey back paddles hurriedly. “It’s just a huge change, alright? Red and chin long to blonde and pixie or undercut or whatever it’s called. Give a fella a minute to adjust.”

Thankfully, Sam pulls Rhodey away before he breaks something, giving Steve the chance to tug at the sleeve of Nat’s shirt, making her meet his gaze. 

“You okay?” he asks in a whisper. 

He can tell that she knows what exactly he means by the briefest tightening of her lips. After that, however, he features smooth over and her eyes become a few shades warmer. 

“I think I finally am.”

Steve nods, relieved. He hates seeing his best friend so morose, and deny it all she wants or pretend morose means something else now in the 21st century, but Nat has been morose, even though she has been improving over time. Moving on is a process, even for superspies like Natasha. 

Steve remembers the fifty or so drawings of Tony in his room and sketchbook at that moment, and decides to drown himself in his coffee. 

*

His phone beeps. 

Tony scrambles up from the floor where he’s been spreading out early mock-ups of ads for the software update that PR sent over and experiences a moment of panic when he cannot locate his phone immediately. 

He forces himself to stop, take a deep breath. _It’s just a text, Stark, get it the fuck together._

It would be embarrassing, really, though thankfully there is no one else around to see him act like a hormonal teenager every time he receives a text message, so Tony refuses to blush at an empty room (no, J.J. doesn’t count) (no, DUM-E doesn’t, either). 

**Thread: Capsicle**  
_Rhodey insists on pizza._

No surprise there. Tony snorts, thumbs already on the screen and tapping out a reply.

 _There sth wrong w/pizza?_

_There is if it’s got pineapple on it._

_Why would anyone put pineapple on a pizza?!_

_Idk. The 21st century is weird._

_Ohhh, text speak :P_

_It’s efficient._

_That’s not what you said when I gave you your first StarkPhone._

_You started with rofl and I wasn’t in a laughing mood._

_Yeah, not my finest moment. We still on for 6?_

_And if you say anything to jinx us now I’ll set Star Spangled Man as your permanent ringtone I’m not kidding_

It takes Steve a moment to respond. 

_You know, there actually are a few good covers out there._

Tony stares at this phone, mouth hanging slightly open.

_Changing your contact info to Captain Sass…_

_Send me a screenshot when you’re done. Gotta go – training._

_Give ‘em hell!_

He is still chuckling when he sets the phone back down and walks back to the printouts on the floor. He makes it five entire minutes before he snatches it back, changes Steve’s contact info, takes a screenshot and attaches it to a message. 

And what if he keeps checking for a response every three minutes even though he knows it’ll be hours before Steve is done with training? No one’s there to know… 

*

“Listen, man, I have an idea.”

Steve swallows the last of the water down but is still too out of breath from the latest obstacle course to do more than nod in acknowledgement for Jim to go on. 

“We’re gonna get Tony out of the tower today.”

That makes Steve quirk an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to order in.”

“Never said that, Cap. I said I wanted pizza, and you know what? There’s about a billion places just around the tower that sell them.”

“What if Tony says no?”

“He won’t when you’re asking, too.”

“But should we rush him like that? If he’s not ready –”

“Steve, listen, I was there for Tony after the whole Stane mess and if I hadn’t dragged him out and manhandled him into a bar, he wouldn’t have left his tower in anything less than the Iron Man suit for the rest of his life. He’ll never make the first step without a little nudging. Besides, he should have positive memories from outside the tower, with me in them as an active participant and not as a bleeding body on a gurney.”

Rhodey then tries to stare him down and Steve would laugh at that if the topic weren’t so serious. He doesn’t even need to think about this for long before shaking his head and saying with finality, “We’re offering him a choice.” 

“He’s gonna –”

“Then he’s gonna say no,” Steve interrupts. “I’m not tricking him into doing anything he doesn’t want to do.”

Later, after they suggested going out instead of ordering in, Tony takes one look at them and snorts. 

“This was Rhodey’s idea, wasn’t it?” he asks, though he isn’t glaring at Steve, which he counts as a win. 

“Yes, and he does have a point. Yet I could absolutely understand if you prefer to order in.”

Tony seems to dwell on that for a second. “You think it’s a good idea?”

Steve shrugs rather helplessly. “You gotta go out at some point. Might as well make it fun.” 

He watches Tony square his shoulders and take a deep breath, but indecision is etched in every single line of his face. The way Steve interprets his body language right now, Tony is going to say yes only to please Rhodey and himself, and that’s just not going to fly, not on Steve’s watch. So he adds softly, “We don’t have to. We could plan it for next time.” 

Tony’s eyes lighten up and he looks at Steve as if he just brought Tony a self-replenishing cup of coffee. The intensity of the relief mixed with gratitude in his eyes makes Steve’s heart stutter embarrassingly. 

Rhodey knows when he has been outvoted, so he sighs, rubbing his brow wearily. “Alright, next time. But then I want cheese in my crust.”

Steve is wrinkling his nose and pursing his lips before he can actively stop himself, yet it startles a laugh out of Tony so he doesn’t feel too bad about it. Steve’s aversion to cheesy crust (who ever thought that was a good idea? Which drugs did one have to take to even consider something like that?) was the stuff of legends amongst the Avengers. Or used to be, anyway.

“Wait, I feel like I’m missing something,” Rhodey muses, and Tony clasps his shoulder, steering him towards the living room. 

“Buddy, you haven’t lived until you heard Captain America rant about cheesy crust pizzas!”

“Captain America doesn’t have anything against them!” Steve argues as he trails after them, sounding petulant even to his own ears. “It’s Steve Rogers who doesn’t get why you’d waste cheese like that.”

“See, it’s aggravating enough to make him talk about himself in the third person,” Tony quips, following it up with a yelp when Steve shoves him playfully. It’s only after Steve has done it that he realizes it might come across as a little childish. 

He swallows, pulling his eyes away from Tony’s hand where it is rubbing the spot he hit, sarcastically. No, really – Steve hasn’t even been aware that one could rub a patch of skin sarcastically until he met Tony Stark. Thor was right – there is nothing in the universe apart from him that cannot be explained. 

“- okay?”

“Sorry, what?” Steve forces himself back into the present, where Tony has narrowed his eyes at him, seeming slightly worried, and Rhodey is smirking meaningfully. 

“Tony was suggesting we get ice cream for dessert.”

Steve clears his throat awkwardly. “Sure, sounds great.”

Which prompts Tony to expand on the superiority of ice cream over tiramisu as Italian-style dessert for about three minutes, by which time Jim has retrieved three beers from the refrigerator and a menu from a kitchen drawer. 

Tony accepts his mid-sentence and keeps talking, aided by embellishing gestures and noises, and Steve commits the sight to memory. He can already see the charcoal lines on paper and decides that for tonight, he is not going to worry about the implication of this newest development. 

*

Exactly one week after Rhodey and Steve’s less-than-sneaky (which Tony appreciates, and seriously, could Steve be any more considerate?) attempt to get him out of the tower, they have reservations at a new, low-key Indian joint.

It’s still over an hour before the other two are going to show up, but Tony’s been nervous about this for two days, which means he’s freshly showered and contemplating his closet with a towel around his hips way too early ‘cos he’ll just end up changing five times anyway. At moments like this he misses Pepper The PA, who used to lay out his clothes for him if he was going out, like Sandra Bullock in that rom-com with Hugh Grant, whatsitsname… 

“Sir, Ms. Potts is asking to see you.”

Tony barks out a laugh. “Speak of the devil… let her up, J.J.!”

When Pepper enters his suite, he has already decided on underwear and light jeans and is holding four t-shirts, two in each hand, up against his chest with his eyes on his reflection in the full-length mirror adorning one wall of his walk-in-closet. 

He turns towards her when the clicking of her heels is near enough, quirking an eyebrow and cocking his head. “Which one?”

Pepper, quick like always, sweeps her eyes across the choices briefly. “Guys’ night out?”

Tony nods. “Rhodey and Steve. Indian.” 

There must be something in his expression that tips Pepper off, or she’s just plain psychic (though that’s a theory he refuted a few years ago; he still has the spreadsheets if anyone’s curious), because she catches on to his apprehension immediately. Her eyes soften and she places her tablet on one of the drawers holding his shoes, then walks over and takes the t-shirts off his hands, hanging them back into the closet.

She fishes out a well-worn Black Sabbath tee as well as a light grey long-sleeve one instead. It’s one of Tony’s favorite combos, usually reserved for lazing about the tower, and she’s right, it’s probably going to make him feel a lot more relaxed tonight. 

He slips it on, sending her a grateful smile when his head is visible again. 

“Why aren’t the others tagging along?” Pepper asks conversationally, retrieving her tablet and tapping something on the screen. 

“Oh, you mean the assassin who knows I could actually hack into the board computer of the quinjet her boyfriend stole even though it’s in stealth mode because _of course_ I built in a back door for emergencies, but I’m just respecting Bruce’s need to get away? Or wait, you mean the witch? ‘Cos she’s still pretty cold towards me; but I’m working on it. Vision doesn’t eat… And the Pigeon’s still a little star-struck around me, so –”

“I get your point, Tony. At least Steve’s been warming up to you.”

“Yes, because you made him,” he grumbles, though Pepper fixes him with a stern look. 

“And he stayed because he wanted to. He’s coming out to dinner with you and Rhodey because he choses to, not out of any sense of obligation.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tony rushes to say, because he really doesn’t want to think about this in detail. “So, what’s up? I doubt you came all the way up here just to safe me from uncomfortable fashion choices.”

“Well, since you were so quick to reply to our PR department –”

“I’m always quick!”

“It usually takes you three weeks, Tony, not three days. Trish even asked me if you’re okay.”

“I had time.”

“You _made_ time, we both know the difference. And if I didn’t have enough to deal with this quarter I’d interrogate you why you needed a distraction so badly that you voluntarily commented on PR campaigns before I pester you about it for two weeks, but that’s going to have to wait until the next board meeting is over. Anyway,” she continues after a beat, presenting the tablet to him, “here are the final mock-ups you need to sign off on.”

They’re good, Tony has to admit. He’s been around long enough to know a good advertising campaign from a bad one and the one for the new operating system upgrade? Genius. Should quell the protests about having to adjust to a reworked interface and incompatible older software yada yada yada, and make people actually want to install it. Not that they get a choice, because… no. That giving consumers too many choices would open the gates of hell is actually one of the few things Tony could ever agree on with Mark Zuckerberg. 

Tony hands Pepper the StarkPad back. She raises an eyebrow. 

“No comment? You’re perfectly happy with them?”

“You say that as if –”

“Sixteen drafts, Tony, the last campaign took sixteen drafts!”

“That’s ‘cos Vanguard headed the creative team and he’s just useless –”

“He won an AME award and managed to sell the update to –”

“Then he should stick to buttering up execs and not design campaigns.”

The reply Tony anticipates never comes. Instead, Pepper pulls him into a hug. 

“Uh, Pepper?”

“I missed you,” she whispers into his neck. 

“I’ve been here the entire time.”

She pulls back, shaking her head. “Not really. You know what I mean. You’ve had a rough couple of months. I’m glad to see you’re getting better.”

He shrugs it off before she decides to dwell any longer on Tony Stark’s Failsafe Ways Of Coping With Building A Murder Robot And Almost Ending The World.

“Have fun tonight.”

“I will.”

“And Tony?” Pepper is almost out of the room when she turns, one hand on the doorknob. “Don’t be nervous. You can do it.”

Too bad he’s not so sure. Thankfully Pepper is out of the door before he’s forced to react. 

*

He babbles when he’s nervous, is the thing, and while Rhodey and Pepper and Happy might be used to such moods from him and have learnt to just let it run its course, Steve never had that chance. 

Which means that Tony spends the entire car ride to the restaurant (Rhodey’s driving ‘cos Tony promised him he’d get to try out the Audi one day, so it took six months, _oops_ ) twisted in the passenger seat so he’s able to look at Steve as he explains about SI’s marketing strategy and why the newest campaign rocks. In detail. 

But Steve’s such a great audience – he listens, like, _really listens_ , none of that fake-listening crap people have perfected nowadays. And he doesn’t even look bored, or disinterested, but curious and strangely fascinated as Tony gestures and jokes, which makes Tony’s heart skip into his throat, which in turn prompts more babbling. 

Rhodey at least lets him finish his current train of thought (and kudos to him or identifying it as such; most of Tony’s professors at MIT never acquired that particular skill) before he clears his throat pointedly. 

“Tones, we’re here.”

“Oh, yeah, right!” Tony twists back into a sitting position and tries to make his hand move to the handle so he can get out of the car. 

Any moment now. 

Seriously.

Only before he has had a chance to scrape up every single ounce of courage from the car floor, Tony finds himself blinking up into Steve’s smiling face. 

“Mr. Stark,” he teases, holding the car door open with a flourish, cutting an impressive figure in nothing more special than khakis and warm brown plaid. “After you.”

The laughter that bubbles up in Tony’s chest is more hysterical than anything, but it’s enough to get him moving. The sun has set by now but the last slivers of daylight remain, and maybe it’s anxiety, maybe it’s some sort of misplaced bravado that has Tony’s lips twist into a smirk as he turns to Steve and pats at his (muscular) chest. 

“You’d make an excellent chauffeur,” he quips, eyes tracing the movement of Steve’s broad shoulders while the man turns and closes the car door. 

“Well, now I know what I’ll do when this Captain America gig doesn’t work out,” Steve deadpans, and oh yes, his eyes are up there. 

“I’ll hire you any day, Cap,” Tony shoots back and for a glorious second allows himself to imagine seeing Steve every day, multiple times, having him smile at him like that – 

“Guys, I’d love to let you stare at each other for longer, but I’m starving and we should get in before someone recognizes us and calls the paps.”

If Tony’s life were a movie, that’s be the opportune moment for a comedic sound-effect. 

It’s not, though, so he tears his gaze away from Steve’s and brushes past Rhodey and into the restaurant, stubbornly ignoring the twinkle in his best friend’s eyes. 

*

Dinner is good. Not just the food (which almost compares to that Tandoori Chicken Bruce made once for his birthday), but the conversation as well and his anxiety levels are at a manageable low. They even manage to talk about Clint and Bruce without sounding bitter, which Tony thinks should earn them a medal or something. Or just dessert. 

“Nope, we’re not ordering Payasam, that’s disgusting,” Tony is explaining when Steve’s phone goes off in his jacket where it has been decorating the chair. “Now honestly, Cap, didn’t anyone teach you to mute your phone?”

“I did.” Steve’s attention is on the device in his hand. His shoulders tense and Tony’s pulse spikes, but not in a good way. “Rogers,” he tells whoever is on the other end of the call. Hill, probably. “Yes, correct… Understood… I’m not sure – I’ll ask him.” Steve lowers the phone and meets Tony’s eyes across the table. “There’s been an attack on a school in Nebraska. We don’t know who’s behind it, but it looks like an Enhanced. Can we count on Iron Man?” 

Tony gulps. He wants to say no, desperately wants to go back to his tower and hole up in his workshop where he can’t break anything, or at least where he’s able to fix anything he destroys with little effort. 

But Captain America is looking at him expectantly, and what’s more, _Steve_ is fixing him with a hopeful gaze that somehow manages to be reassuring. 

“Yes,” Tony says. “You do.”

The corners of Steve’s lips curl into a smile, soft and private and proud and it makes Tony’s heart rate go haywire for a second, before Steve morphs into Captain America and they’re rushing out of the restaurant to the car that holds both the Mark VII suitcase and Rhodey’s portable suit in addition to Steve’s gear, leaving a couple of bills as well as a wide-eyed staff and a few confused patrons behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #SorryNotSorry for the slight cliffhanger. Chapter 10 will bring back a familiar face :) and a bit of drama… and be ridiculously long! 
> 
> Also, I’m printing out your comments and framing them, seriously. You are the best!


	10. Resurrection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please welcome Pietro to the cast, everyone :) It’s so good to have him back! Also, Bruce and Bucky kidnapped the narrative, plus Clint wanted screentime, so now you get to enjoy almost 6k of plot...
> 
> Please note that this chapter comes with a **warning for minor character death and death of OCs**. It ends on a dark note, but chapter 11 will come to the rescue soon and drown you all in happy feels!

**_Somewhere in Pakistan – three days ago_ **

“Here.”

Bruce glances up to where Barnes is holding out a cup for him, the steam rising up from it a testament to how hot the tea still is. He adjusts his grip on the blanket covering his shoulders and accepts the beverage with a quiet “Thank you”. 

Barnes shrugs it off. “Least I can do after you saved my hide back there.”

“That wasn’t me, though.”

The other man grins. “Well, I can hardly offer Hulk the tea, can I? For starters, these mugs would be way too small.” He makes a point of glancing around the only half-smashed kitchen, yet when he twists to the left, his breath hitches. 

Bruce is climbing to his feet immediately, shedding both blanket and cup as he does so. “Let me see.”

Unsurprisingly, all Barnes does is roll his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“We have ten more minutes until the data transfer is complete; you might as well make use of having a doctor with you. I saw a first-aid kit around the corner.”

Barnes grumbles something under his breath that might have been Russian, though he complies eventually, following Bruce into what used to be the hallway of a Pakistani Hydra base before the Hulk decided to redecorate. 

Four minutes later the Winter Soldier is pouting in response to the stern look Bruce just sent him. 

“That’s not nothing, Barnes,” he chides, dabbing the shallow but long wound with antiseptic wipes. 

“It is for me.”

Bruce leans back, putting down the wipes and motioning at Barnes’ black undershirt. His leather jacket is already draped over the bench next to where he I sitting. 

“I’ll reach it better if you take off your shirt.” He phrases it like a suggestion in the hopes Barnes won’t take issue with it. Bruce cannot fathom what the man has been through, and baring his torso might not be on the cards at this point, even (or especially) for medical reasons. 

Barnes, however, surprises him. His pout morphs into a smirk and he tilts his head at him. “If you wanted to get me naked, Doc, you should’ve just asked,” he says, then pulls the shirt over his head.

Bruce smiles, shaking his head minutely. “Sorry.”

Chucking the shirt on top of the jacket, Barnes squints at him, then leans back, practically leering. “You saying you wouldn’t want a piece of this?”

Even though he is teasing, Barnes sounds sincere enough to elicit a chuckle from Bruce. It’s good to see more of the loose, easy-going James and less of the Winter Soldier. While the Other Guy might prefer the latter for reasons Bruce doesn’t dare imagine – and he has to like the Soldier, or otherwise Barnes would never be able to pull off the Lullaby as well as he has been doing the first and second time he has had to try it – Bruce finds himself starting to think of James as a friend. 

“Even if it were an option for me,” Bruce says when he realizes Barnes is waiting for an actual answer, “you’re really not my type.”

“Too bad. You done yet with me?”

Bruce fastens the bandage over the cut just below Barnes’ ribs and nods. “All done.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“And where are we going this time?” 

Bruce waits for Barnes to get dressed, though even then there is no answer. Instead, Barnes retrieves the flash drive from the computers three doors down the ruins of the hallway along with his rifle, which he then aims at the remaining tech. Bruce leaves him to destroying the equipment as he goes in search for another shirt or sweater as well as anything else they might be able to use, either as provisions or to trade against something more suited to their needs later on. 

By the time Bruce’s pack is full of ammunition and a box of power bars he discovered in the kitchen, he is wearing a generic black tee that is thankfully not sporting the Hydra emblem like the hoodie he had to wear after returning to human form in Bangladesh. At least the special Hulk-proof stretch pants are still intact, or Bruce would have a definite problem. 

“Kazakhstan.”

After two weeks in the Soldier’s presence, Bruce does not startle anymore when Barnes appears noiselessly and apparently out of thin air. 

“What’s in Kazakhstan?”

“Something big. I’m unclear on the details. It’s stuck in my head, though.”

“You think we’re ready for that? Something big?” Barnes’ nod is earnest and assertive. Bruce swallows. “I don’t want to stark killing again.”

“You won’t need to. Hasn’t this time finally proven that to you?”

He has a point. Their first mission together, back in Indonesia, went off without a hitch, though Bruce thought it to be beginner’s luck. 

“I ain’t no beginner,” Barnes had said, and made a point, about a week later in Bangladesh, to take out every Hydra thug on the site by himself. All the Hulk had to do was smash the base to gain them access, and then to destroy it completely. 

Bruce heaves a sigh, flexes his free hand that is not holding a bag. “Well, Kazakhstan is a large country. Can you narrow it down?”

Barnes smiles. “I even remember the coordinates. Come on, let’s blow this joint.”

With that, he walks off, Bruce following with a snort. As soon as they are out of the blast radius, Barnes triggers the detonator, turning the Pakistani Hydra base into nothing more than ashes and rubble. 

*

The following morning they make their way to Rawalpindi where they seek out an Air Marshall who is on his way back to the Pakistani Air Force Base Nur Khan and trade the Hydra tech they salvaged against a ride to Kazakhstan. 

As it turns out Barnes’ Urdu is even better than Bruce’s, which facilitates negotiations considerably. The fact that the local Hydra chapter had a habit of kidnapping locals and experimenting on them, including the Air Marshall’s son, is probably the most important reason why they receive help so easily this time around, though. 

Barnes ensures there is no trace of either of them, neither in the computer logs nor any flight manifests, while Bruce trades some excess medical supplies against a small suture kit. When the doctor asks, Bruce pretends to be a Canadian anthropologist doing fieldwork in the area, though Barnes saves him before he actually has to make up a research question. 

When they part, the Air Marshall hands Bruce a reinforced Air Fore jacket. “Against the cold,” he says, and two days later a barely-shivering Bruce decides that the man probably saved his life. 

The Hydra base Barnes has in mind is located in the Tian Shan mountain range, carved deep into Khan Tengri, the highest point of Kazakhstan. 

“This isn’t a mountain,” Bruce grouses, “it’s a block of ice.”

“You’d think Hulk wouldn’t let you get cold.” 

Barnes is lying on his stomach, observing the entrance to the base through the visor of his rifle. He sounds far too amused for temperatures like these. Yet if October is already this cold, Bruce shudders to think what December would be like. This is why he prefers Asia, or better yet India – the weather is far more agreeable with him. 

“The Other Guy would only care if I were in danger of frost bite, which I’m not. _Yet_.”

“I think those months in Stark’s tower made you go soft.”

“You found me in the slums of Surabaya.”

“You want a medal for that? Now shut up, I’m trying to concentrate here, man.”

“Thought talking was how snipers concentrate,” Bruce quips, earning him a glare. 

Their plan takes form over the next two hours and when the moment has finally come, Bruce is more than glad to change into the Hulk. At least he isn’t as sensitive to temperatures as his human alter ego. 

Either Hydra has caught on to the fact that the Winter Soldier now has green reinforcements or this base is just better staffed; but whatever the reason it still means that it takes them a lot longer to take care of the situation. When Bruce finally blinks back to awareness he senses that hours have passed and for some reason they are still on site. 

“What –” he tries, only to surrender to a coughing fit. 

“Sorry,” he hears Barnes say somewhere above him. “But we need your medical expertise.”

Intrigued – alright, more confused and disoriented – Bruce explores his surroundings, finding himself in what appears to be a lab-prison-hybrid. There are cells with transparent outer walls revealing narrow rooms with bare stone floors, as well as desks with computers and microscopes, partially destroyed in the fight that appears to have gone down between Barnes and the three scientists who are currently bleeding out in a corner. 

Bruce looks up to his ally and follows his line of sight to the left, to the cell at the very end of the room.

There, chained to the wall and altering between pained groans and lighting-fast bursts of movement, is none other than Pietro Maximoff. 

*

**_October 2nd, 2015 – A school in Nebraska_ **

Clint nocks another arrow on an inhale, makes a show of aiming, then releases on an exhale. The arrow sails through the air and hits the target, incredibly close to the bull’s-eye without breaching it and thus exactly where Clint intended it to go.

He can hear Lila giggle where she is watching with her friends. He winks at her as he steps back to let the next kid try their hand at shooting a bow. 

It's nice, pretending he's only a passable shooter, just another parent helping the school out during the autumn function. Laura even got her sister to look after Nate so that she could come as well without having to feed the latest addition to their family every couple of hours. She's currently in the gym cause apparently she thinks a bunch of middle schoolers are worth listening to when they ~~sing~~ butcher the same, coma-inducingly boring pop song classics as the years before them. Say what you want against Stark, but at least the guy’s got decent taste in music. 

"Hang on, kiddo," he tells the little girl (one of Lila’s friends… Maxie, he thinks) currently doing a god-awful impression of holding a bow while Clint is barely suppressing a wince. It practically hurts him to watch. "Let me show you a way to make that easier, okay?" 

She nods and Clint leans down to - 

_BAM!_

Instinct takes over and when awareness comes back to him, Clint and the girl are on the ground where he is covering her tiny frame from unknown threats. The air is filled with shouts and screams and Clint searches the vicinity for Lila with blood pounding in his ears. 

Like the little warrior princess she always mimes during playtime, she has her arms on her friends’ shoulders, pressing them down into the ground. Clint has never been prouder. 

A quick survey of the room shows that whatever caused the noise was somewhere else ( _explosion, it sounded like an explosion but what was it that exploded fuck Laura please be okay_ ) so Clint jumps to his feet and hollers at the nearest supervising teacher, one of those athletically built gym trained guys who wouldn't last three minutes in a fight (or one minute against Natasha) and orders him to guide everyone out.

Clint rushes over to Lila. "Honey, you okay?" 

She nods, a bit erratically. "Where's Cooper, Dad? And Mom?!" 

"I don't know yet, honey, but I'll find them. You gotta take care of your friends now, you hear me? Get them out and keep them safe?" 

"Like a young Avenger," she agrees solemnly and Clint’s heart stutters. 

He releases his hold on her and rushes over to the bows, pulling out a sleek case from under the table. He was planning on proving to Cooper’s teacher that his son wasn't lying when he said his old man could hit any target, so he’d brought his Stark Tech. Maybe he jinxed the day by taking it along when he's supposed to be a civilian, damn it. 

He dials Hills number while he's still unpacking his gear and gets as far as "Barton here" before she cuts him off. 

"I'm getting in first reports; can't tell you much but it looks like our kind of gig. There was an explosion and it doesn't seem to have been natural."

"And whatever the hell that was just _happened_ to go down exactly where my family and I currently are?"

Hill's tone betrays her suspicions perfectly. "I don't have enough intel to answer that, Barton. I'm sending back up. Local SHIELD agents are ten minutes out. Avengers will take longer but they've been notified." 

"I'll start with evac."

"Stay safe, Barton." 

Hill terminates the call before he has to think of an answer. His breath is ragged and adrenaline is chasing away any selfish thoughts that are screaming at him to find Cooper and Laura and get the fuck out of here. He can't, not yet. He's not an Avenger anymore but he's still a specialist, even if he's on parental leave, so he swallows down everything that isn't his mission mindset. 

The room has been cleared and Clint proceeds into the hallway where chaos reigns. People are running, kids are crying, and Clint shouts at them in order to herd them to the nearest exit until another explosion hits, making the floor underneath their feet tremble. Clint remains upright this time, his eyes snapping to the source of the noise. 

His heart stops. 

The gymnasium, visible across the schoolyard, lies in ruins, smoke rising from errant flames. 

_Laura._

His brain switches to autopilot. 

*

**_Hydra base, Khan Tengri, Kazakhstan_ **

“Dr. Banner?” 

Pietro’s voice is stronger than Bruce expected it to be. His pupils are responsive when he examines them, but his entire body is trembling, shaking with accrued energy, as well as bleeding from several deep gashes that are already healing before Bruce’s eyes. 

“Yes, it’s me,” Bruce replies softly. “I’m going to unchain you now if you promise you won’t run off completely. Can you do that? You might need medical attention.”

Pietro nods frantically, slumped against the wall of his cell one second and on his feet the next. Bruce’s eyes never even registered the movement. 

Barnes hands him a set of keys and Bruce tries three before finding the one that opens the shackles. Pietro is out of the room a split second later. 

“You know him?” Barnes asks, his expression torn between intrigue and suspicion. 

“He fought with us against Ultron, in the end there. Hydra experimented on him and his sister. He… I thought he died. I read about his funeral.”

“Hydra specializes in resurrection.”

“So it would seem.”

He inspects the lab until he finds a chart that is mainly written in English with some Cyrillic notes in the margins. Bless Hydra for having an official language Bruce actually understands. Barnes would be able to translate, yet Bruce doubts his skills include technical medical terms. 

The chart does not contain much information but enough to make him gasp. Barnes takes a step closer. Bruce can feel his quizzical gaze on his back. 

He takes a breath that fails to steady him, then explains anyway. “The program is called ‘Failsafe’. Hydra tried to engineer all Enhanced in a way that they could be reanimated in the case of death. But it doesn’t make any sense,” he continues, going through the rest of the papers scattered across the desk and the floor. “According to the chart Hydra waited months before excavating his body; why not do it immediately, or steal if from SHIELD before they buried him?” 

“Because this is not really Hydra.” 

Bruce whirls around but it is only Pietro, looking marginally better than a few minutes ago. He has their packs, which is a welcome addition, and at least he is not trembling anymore. He still appears a little worse for wear though; pale and thinner than Bruce recalls him. 

“Who is it then?”

Pietro’s accent is thick in his voice when he responds. “Advanced Idea Mechanics. They joined forces with Hydra one year ago. But Hydra isn’t strong anymore, not without Strucker.” He grimaces around the name, as if saying it puts an awful taste in his mouth. “Now AIM is getting stronger.”

“What did they want with you?” Bruce asks. “They must know that you helped us in Sokovia.”

That elicits a wry smile from the young man. “They had plans. Reprogramming, they called it. I wouldn’t help them by choice.”

Bruce smiles back, though his expression falters when he catches Pietro shiver. He crosses the room to where the Enhanced left their bags and pulls out the Air Force jacket. 

“Here. I can stitch up your wounds after Barnes destroyed this hellhole.”

“They’ll be healed by then,” Pietro says with a shake of his head. Then, for the first time, he actively looks at the third man in the room. “You are the Winter Soldier,” he whispers, his tone both impressed and worried. 

“Not anymore.”

Bruce watches as the two, by the looks of it, have an entire conversation with their eyes, from one product of Hydra experimentation to another. Bruce is almost jealous of the way they immediately feel a connection, because he will never have that again with anyone on the planet. 

“So you are destroying their bases?” Pietro asks after a drawn-out moment. 

Barnes nods. “The ones I can remember.” Then he quirks an eyebrow which still does nothing to diminish his threatening aura. It’s probably the eyeliner, Bruce muses. “Wanna tag along, kid?” 

“You’re only a couple of years older than me.” Pietro probably wanted to sound teasing yet it comes out petulant enough that Bruce fails to hold back a chuckle. 

“Technically, I’m 97,” Barney shoots back with a grin. 

“Well, biologically you’re about 29,” Bruce feels compelled to point out. “Pietro’s chart puts him at barely 21.”

Pietro startles. “What month is it?” 

Bruce hesitates. “October.”

The young man curses, presumably in Serbian. “I missed our birthday.”

It takes Bruce a moment to realize he is also talking about his sister. “She’s with the Avengers, last I heard. Upstate New York. We can help you get there, if you want.”

Pietro blinks, strangely slow considering his abilities. His expression is tinged with indecision. 

“Or,” Barnes cuts in, “you can help us take care of a couple ‘o more Hydra bases, pay these bastards back for what they did to you, and then we’ll get you stateside.”

Pietro blurs, right there on the spot, fluctuating a few feet to the left and right in turn – his equivalent of pacing, Bruce presumes. His scientist senses are tingling. He’d love to quiz the man about his enhancements but he knows better than to say that out loud. He packs Pietro’s file just in case, however. They might need it in case any problems occur and besides, Barnes and he have decided to take all data with them when raiding a base. They still lack a computer, but at least they have the ability to figure out what post-Washington Hydra is up to. 

Pietro comes to a halt just as Bruce closes his rucksack again. 

“I’ll help you, at least for a bit. Looks like you could use me.”

Bruce doubts that is the only reason though he doesn’t call him out on it. Maybe Pietro just needs time to adjust, or he really wants to take revenge. Either way, their mission has just become considerably easier. 

_And when did I start thinking about what we’re doing as a mission?_ , Bruce wonders as they make their way out of the base. It fits, though. Especially given the resurgence of AIM, the more of Hydra they manage to eliminate, the better. 

“I’m going to spend most time waiting for you, won’t I?” Pietro asks when they finally reach the exit, smirking loftily and already holding a detonator. 

“Jesus Christ, kid! We’re gonna set new records for kicking ass with you on board,” Barnes says, waving Pietro’s hand away when the young man offers the detonator to him. “Nah. This one’s yours. Let’s blow this joint.”

Bruce just shakes his head. He should probably be more worried about Barnes’ penchant for developing a catch phrase. 

The base implodes, flames consuming the bodies of its staff. 

“Where to now?” Bruce asks. Barnes just smirks. 

*

**_A school in Nebraska_ **

The five-story building next to the gym has been damaged in the explosion, cutting off all above floors and filling it with smoke and gas. Clint identifies several groups of kids and adults in the windows, desperately searching for an escape route. 

Clint's hand darts to his grappling arrows. As soon as he is in shooting distance he buries one above the last row of windows. The mechanism works perfectly, pulling him up within seconds. He starts with those kids on the fifth floor, taking down four at a time with him when they are small enough. He loses himself in the repetitive process, accommodates the helpers from SHIELD when they arrive. 

"Dad!" 

Cooper is on the fourth floor, clinging to Clint for dear life when he pulls him close. Clint squeezes back just as tightly. 

The third explosion hits the side of the main building as Clint is sliding down with his son and Cooper’s best friend, both too tall to allow any more passengers. The kids scream but Clint keeps going until his son is safe on the ground and running away with a helpful young SHIELD recruit. 

Then he sees it. 

Or rather, him. Because it is a him, piecing himself together from the gases emanating from the newest explosion site, his body forming out of thin air. It's not the weirdest thing Clint has ever seen, but it comes close. 

In front of his eyes, the man explodes again, ripping the roof off the main building. Clint hates his good hearing in that moment for the pained cries of dying people register in perfect clarity. 

He has no idea how long it takes them to clear the building but at some point he disengages the grappling arrow and takes off towards the other buildings. He has barely completed three strides when a shout stops him. 

He whips around, eyes immediately latching on to the two girls at a fourth floor window. One of them is bleeding from her temple; was probably knocked out when the last blast shook the building. Clint sprints back, nocking a new arrow and in the air mere seconds later. 

"Hold on to me!" he orders them and thankfully they aren't paralyzed with fear and react swiftly. 

They start their descent not a heartbeat too late because the human bomb materializes in the middle of the building. 

Clint glimpses him on the third floor and training takes over - he tightens his grip on the girls, twists, then kicks himself off the wall, propelling the three of them through the air. He takes the brunt of the fall, his back hitting the ground with a thump that drowns in the sound of the explosion consuming the building. Clint rolls over, blanketing the girls even though he doubts it will help much, the entire building’s collapsing – 

\- but the expected debris never impacts with his back. Instead he hears a familiar whoosh and senses another body behind him.

"You okay?" Steve asks, fully suited up, his blue eyes narrowed in worry through the slits of his cowl. 

"Yeah, thanks," Clint mutters, taking in the damage to the building and checking that the girls are unharmed. They are too busy staring at Captain America with wide eyes to be too hurt, so Clint glances back at Cap, falling back into familiar patterns and waiting for orders. 

“Get them to safety, then join us at that building,” Steve orders, indicating the arts complex with a gesture. “The sooner we evacuate all, the better.”

“Any idea how to stop him?”

“Stark’s working on it.”

“Stark’s here?” 

As if on cue, Iron Man shoots past them overhead, his movements in synch with War Machine. 

“Give that man an earpiece, Cap,” Iron Man says through his speaker, prompting Steve to reach into one of the pockets of his suit and hand over the device. 

Clint snaps it in place without a problem, muscle memory taking over. There is a faint ringing in his ears and he shakes his head in the hopes that’ll clear it up. It doesn’t, but he has fought through worse. 

“Hawkeye on coms,” he announces his presence, glad to hear the rest of the team acknowledge him fondly. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Tony sing-songs in his left ear a moment later and a glance towards the sky shows Iron Man scouring the school grounds. 

Three buildings have been reduced to ruins – the gym (Clint ignores the pang of _painguiltnoplease_ ), the main building and the science complex out of which he just pulled the girls and Cooper. Two more buildings are standing: the arts complex with the auditorium where Clint watched Lila ( _safesheissafe_ ) perform in the school musical just last month, and one filled with regular classrooms and study halls as well as the library, two stories higher than the science building. Clint has never realized just how vulnerable and large the school grounds are before this moment. 

“Hawkeye, what can you tell us about this guy?” Tony asks through the earpiece, so Clint reports everything he was able to deduce as he carries the two girls to the nearest SHIELD agents before rushing towards where he can see Cap’s shield glint in the distance. 

“War Machine,” Steve commands as soon as Clint is in his vicinity, “give Hawkeye a lift; we need eyes in the sky. Your priority is to catch him if the enemy attacks his building.”

“Aye.”

It’s been a while, yet Clint manages to hold onto the armor without any problems and rolls onto the roof of the seven-story classroom building, high on adrenaline and hyper vigilant. 

Soon he has eyes on every Avengers, all but Steve and Natasha in the air. The latter is coordinating the last evac efforts in the only other building left standing. 

Clint notices something above the rubble that used to be a gym (holding fifty children and at least two-hundred adults _why that building damn it no please Laura_ ). The air there is sort of vibrating which can only mean one thing. 

“He’s about to materialize above the gym,” Clint informs the others, already aiming at the spot. 

Wanda, Vision, Falcon, War Machine and Iron Man swoop in immediately as Cap jogs across the sports field but the moment the man has pieced himself together he explodes again, directing the blast towards Wanda and Steve. The Scarlet Witch reacts in a heartbeat, pulling up an energy shield that deflects the explosion away from them and back onto their enemy but the gases disappear and he is gone from sight. 

Clint feels something behind him. “Up here!” he shouts, sending the arrow flying as soon as he can make out human features. 

The guy has long white hair and would be handsome if his features weren’t contorted first in anger, then pain as the arrow connects with his chest. Only it doesn’t eat into the skin underneath the truly ugly shirt the man’s wearing – body armor, _fuck_. 

“Get down!” Stark barks and Clint drops to the rooftop floor without a split second’s hesitation. A wooshing sound accompanies Tony’s maneuver, which ends with the bad guy in Iron Man’s grip, flying off the building. 

He drops the Human Bomb above the former main building and the guy detonates himself to avoid hitting the piles of rubble. 

“Subject has body armor, I repeat, subject has body armor,” Clint transmits, already back to combing the school yard. 

“Oh drat, whatever shall we do?” Tony shoots back flippantly and Clint mentally counts down for Steve to get on his ass for disregarding communication protocols, but to his utter surprise, Rogers _chuckles_. Chuckles!

“I take it you’ve got an idea, Tones?” Colonel Rhodes chimes in, which leads Stark to dive into a monologue about frequencies and recalibration of which Clint gets maybe a third. 

That’s enough, however, to understand that Stark has already dispatched Veronica who is now hovering nearby and being reprogrammed to trap Human Bomb while the guy’s in his gaseous state, though in two separate containers. And apparently the guy is emitting a certain frequency shortly before exploding, which Tony’s new AI (and isn’t that a chilly thought) can reverse engineer and turn back onto the thug to induce a blast. 

“Good plan. Hawkeye, you got eyes on him?” Cap says once Stark has fallen silent. 

The Human Bomb remains elusive for a couple of minutes, then materializes near Vision who targets him with the frequency as soon as possible but nothing happens.

“Frequency shows no effect across greater distance,” Vision explains just as the guy flees into the arts building. 

“Widow, subject just entered your building,” Clint supplies. “How’s evac?”

“Doing my last sweep but so far it’s clear,” Natasha answers him immediately and Cap orders her to get out as soon as she can. 

“All clear!” she pants shortly after and, as it turns out, not a second too late. Next thing Clint knows the complex crumbles under the onslaught of another detonation. 

The following ninety seconds seem to happen in slow motion. 

Their enemy materializes on Clint’s left, barreling into him without any warning and shoving Clint to the ground. He shoots as he falls, hitting the son of a bitch in the thigh with enough force to pierce whatever material the guy’s wearing for protection. A heartbeat later, Iron Man has the bastard in his arms again. 

“Triggering explosion in three, two–“

But something’s wrong; the guy has shifted and now he’s holding onto the Iron Man armor when in fact Stark is releasing his hold on him to let him fall before he explodes, which isn’t going to work by the looks of it. 

Clint does not pause to think. Two arrows bury themselves in the guy’s hands, latching onto the skin and sending painful shocks through his body. 

It works; he lets go and Tony manages to get free –

_BAM!_

\- but the detonation has already been triggered, _fuck, not Stark too_ , Clint’s mind screams, the thought repeating inside his head over and over again as he watches Iron Man careen to the ground while small metal pieces form two containers that, as it seems, catch the particles of their enemy. Once full and sealed, they land near Stark and what Clint sees there makes his stomach turn. 

The suit has ejected Tony, but the left shoulder plates took a considerable hit and even from his position on the rooftop Clint can see the charred flesh and smoking cloth. 

“Hold on tight,” War Machine says though he sounds far away, which he shouldn’t since he’s standing right fucking behind Clint _and what the hell is it with this ringing?_

It’s still there when they land next to Stark, looking so small out of his armor. Cap is running across the field and dropping to his knees next to their unconscious teammate. Steve’s eyes are wide, his features pale and panicked. Clint blinks at Steve’s hand when it reaches out and feels for a pulse with his fingers on Tony’s throat, right above the burns. 

It’s shaking. Steve’s hand is shaking. It’s hardly noticeable but it is there and for a brief moment it’s enough to distract Clint from the noise in his ears and the way everything around him sounds muffled. 

“Iron Man is down,” Steve’s voice cuts through the coms, growling and intimidating. “I repeat, Iron Man is down, we need medevac stat!” 

Wilson and Rhodey hover around the edges while Wanda and Vision seem to have taken up container guarding duty. Clint watches, adrenaline slowly leaving his blood stream, as a slightly banged up Natasha comes running with the medical officers from SHIELD and they shoo Steve away who looks ready to murder anyone who’ll dare look at Stark the wrong way. 

The voices are growing softer and Clint thinks he should be worried about that, but Lila and Cooper have followed Nat and they’re hugging him, tight enough to leave bruises, crying into his shoulders and asking about Laura, _Mom, where’s Mom, Dad, where is she_ , and Clint doesn’t know how to answer. 

“What are you doing?” Steve demands of the medical officers who are prepping a tube. 

“We’re going to insert this through his chest wall; he’s suffering from a pneumothorax, he has air in his chest. Sir, please get back,” the blonde woman explains, managing to sound calm and collected while she is disinfecting the skin near Tony’s right peck as her colleague is provisionally treating the burn wounds.

Steve does stand back, though merely long enough for the officers to do their thing and heave Stark on a gurney. 

“He’s stable for now, Captain,” the doctor tells him before Steve can open his mouth or crowd any closer. “We’ll take him to the nearest hospital and from where he’ll probably be transferred to New York and Dr. Cho.”

Clint watches Steve nod and flex his hands. He buries his face in his children’s hair, inhaling deeply. His head’s a mess, so he’s got no chance of figuring out what’s gone down the past few months he was on leave to change the dynamic between Cap and Stark this much. 

He closes his eyes. His body aches, the ringing is getting louder and the exhaustion is creeping into his bones now that the last of the adrenaline is receding. His kids are alive. The rest of the team is alive. The bad guy’s trapped in metal containers. 

But Laura is buried under rubble and debris and Clint can’t remember how to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah… So that happened. I’m not really sorry. I apologize, Clint, but your wife had no narrative function other than serving as a foil to Bruce and Nat and she was so booooring… so what am I expected to do with her in a fix-it except kill her off and make it interesting? Clint, trust me, you’ll thank me one day… _*glances-at-outline-for-part-II-with-a-smirk*_
> 
> Next up: the culmination point… I am so excited! That chapter, uh, escalated into 8k of feels and will follow Thursday.


	11. Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~Writing romance is still hard~~ We’ve finally here, y’all! The scenes I’ve been writing towards since chapter 2. And now I’m nervous… I really hope I won’t disappoint. Have fun :)

_New York Times – 10/23/2015_

_HYDRA CONFESSES TO TERROR ATTACKS ON NEVADA SCHOOL – ENHANCED CALLED NITRO KILLS 367, MOSTLY CHILDREN_

_Yesterday evening a great tragedy shook a local combined Elementary and Junior High school in Chadron, Nebraska. The school was celebrating their annual autumn function when a man who has been identified as Robert Hunter, 46, launched an attack on the school’s gymnasium._  
_At that moment the school’s choir was in the middle of their performance and the room was filled to the brim with parents and friends. Only thirteen of those in attendance survived when Hunter stood up in the middle of the hall and exploded._  
_Robert Hunter was codenamed Nitro according to the confession video Hydra sent to CNN last night after the attack. He was also a chemistry teacher at the school he helped destroy, thus able to gain access to school grounds unimpeded._  
_The death toll is incredibly high, with 129 students and 238 adults dead. Yet it would have been higher if not for the swift reaction of SHIELD. According to the agency’s official statement, one of their specialists was among the adults present at the autumn celebration and able to start the evacuation process as well as inform his agency, enabling a swift reaction on SHIELD’s part._  
_An hour after the first explosion, Captain America and the rest of the Avengers joined the scene, having flown in from New York. They proceeded to assist with the evacuation and took on Nitro, who had already destroyed two more buildings at that point._  
_The Avengers engaged Nitro and quickly found a way to incapacitate him, yet SHIELD did not publish the exact method employed to achieve this. Witnesses told the New York Times that Nitro has been captured in his gaseous form and stored in two separate containers. Based on the information currently available, Nitro has the ability to explode and reform at will. The Stark Relief Foundation has been on site since last night, helping local forces with the recovery of the estimated 340 corpses buried underneath the remnants of the gymnasium._  
_Meanwhile, last night’s incident marks the first public appearance of Iron Man since the events of Sokovia. Unfortunately Tony Stark has been injured while trying to incapacitate Nitro. As per SHIELD’s statement, he is in stable condition._  
_No other details have been released, but SHIELD has announced a press conference for this afternoon, where Captain America is expected to speak. Please check www.nytimes.com for further updates._

*

Steve puts the pencil down and rolls his head from one shoulder to the other. There is a crick in his neck but nothing could be less important than his physical state right now, not when he is sitting in a hospital chair waiting for Tony to wake up. 

Dr. Cho put him in a medically induced coma as soon as he had landed at the facility. It took a while to prep him for the Cradle – the second prototype, that is, given that the first one was destroyed when Vision was created – and another thirty minutes inside the machine itself to heal Tony’s shoulder. 

“There will be some scaring, unfortunately,” Dr. Cho told the gathered team with a reassuring smile when she came back out. “There will be no nerve damage, though, which I guess will appease Tony a little.”

Everyone told him to get some sleep but Steve knew he wouldn’t be able to find any rest, not with Tony hurt and pierced by wires and tubes. He has a kidney rupture and four broken ribs in addition to the burns. It isn’t too bad for their line of work, or so Dr. Cho explained, but seeing Tony like this doesn’t really put Steve’s mind at peace. The young Stark is going to have to spend about a week in medical, which will undoubtedly be harder on the staff than Tony. 

He isn’t the only difficult patient, though. Clint is lying across the hall in a room with his children, Laura a striking absence in the group. The doctors are extremely worried about Clint’s hearing – it seems to be deteriorating extremely quickly. It doesn’t look good, but with modern technology he can at least be helped, if not cured, and from what Steve knows about the archer, he will adapt to the new situation. 

Natasha merely needed stitches, Sam only bandages on his arm, and Wanda, Rhodey and Vision have emerged entirely unharmed. Steve… Steve is feeling strange; as if he and his body are two separate entities, somehow. 

He looks down at the drawing. It is only Tony’s hand this time, the one closest to him with the IV at its back. Steve is drawing it so that he doesn’t actually hold it. 

He wants to, though. Aches for it, actually, and the more time he spends sitting next to Tony’s bed, the harder it gets to ignore the urge. 

The clock on the wall says it is shortly after 6am and the first rays of sunlight are illuminating the room when Steve surrenders, putting his sketchbook on the bedside table and shuffling forward until he can wrap his fingers around Tony’s gently, careful not to disturb the IV line. 

_As maybe the world’s greatest authority on waiting too long – don’t_ , he told Bruce what seems like a lifetime ago. 

It dawns on Steve that he talked the talk but he’s not walking the walk. He’s been dreaming, nothing more. And now look at where that got him. It doesn’t make sense to him – how can he barge into collapsing buildings or jump off them without batting an eye, yet when it comes to Tony he is frozen with fear?

Well, not _frozen_. Bad metaphor. He’s not paralyzed either, just… afraid to do something that will profoundly change the status quo that has developed between them. 

A muffled groan startles Steve out of his reverie and the hand he is cradling in his own twitches. He releases Tony’s hand before awareness reclaims the man and slides back a little in the visitor chair. 

“Tony, you’re at the facility, you’re okay,” Steve assures him when Tony’s eyes blink open and start darting wildly across the room. “Dr. Cho healed your shoulder, but you’ve got four broken ribs and a ruptured kidney. They’ve got you on a lotta pain meds, so you shouldn’t be feeling too much pain…”

He trails off when Tony turns his head to look at him. Steve waits patiently as Tony swallows, then helps him drink from the water waiting on the bedside table, straw included. Tony’s cheeks flush while he takes a drink, but Steve waves his concerns away. 

“Did it work?” is the first thing Tony says as soon as his voice is somewhat cooperating again. 

Steve nods and catches him up on what’s been going on, including the statement SHIELD released and the press conference Steve has to attend in a few hours. 

“Jeez, Barton…”

“Yeah.” 

Silence stretches between them. Tony appears lucid enough; they’re alone… this is Steve’s chance. He needs to do it now or he probably never will, but his throat is dry and his palms are damp. He tries to be sneaky about wiping them on the sheets of the hospital bed yet Tony notices and quirks an eyebrow at him. 

“Something wrong, Cap?” His voice is barely above a whisper, raspy from the intubation and the brief coma. 

Steve squares his shoulders and takes the deepest breath of his life. 

“I have to ask you something.”

Tony blinks. “Alright, buddy…”

Steve breathes in. Out. Smiles nervously. “Tony… Would you like to go out with me?”

He expected a lot of reactions – laughter, a snort, an apologetic shake of the head – but not an entire ninety seconds of silence. He doubts he has ever seen Tony be silent and perfectly still for that long. 

Just as Steve is starting to worry whether or not he has actually broken Tony, the other man coughs, averting his eyes just as the tips of his ears are turning pink. 

“They’re really giving me the good stuff, aren’t they?”

“The good – what?”

But Tony babbles on as if he hasn’t even heard Steve’s remark. “Or’s this a hallucination? Wait – did Wanda do this, you know, make up for the last vision, which admittedly was grade A horrible, so this might be an adequate apology –”

“What are you talking about?” Steve manages because he genuinely has no idea what’s going on. 

Tony starts. Turns towards him, blinking owlishly. “Is this real right now?”

Steve nods slowly. “Why shouldn’t it be real?”

“’Cos you just asked me to go on a date with you…” Tony’s tone loses its assertiveness about halfway into the sentence and whatever he sees in Steve’s expression makes his eyes widen. “You – this isn’t some kind of drug-induced fever dream?”

“I’m pretty sure the drugs are supposed to keep the fever at bay,” Steve tries to lighten the moment, yet his quip falls flat so he swallows and repeats, “Yes, Tony, I really did ask you out.”

Another ten seconds pass in silence. 

“Why?” 

Tony seems completely perplexed, and Steve can’t quite understand why this comes as such a surprise – he had the impression that he wasn’t overly subtle about his feelings; Sam kept smirking meaningfully. How come Tony is acting completely floored?

“Why would you possibly want to date _me_?”

_Oh. That’s why._

Steve ignores the twinge in his chest at how genuinely incredulous Tony sounds and smiles at him, clasping the sheets in his hands in order to give them something to hold on to. He has been imagining this situation for the past hour, yet now that it has actually arrived the words tumble from his lips, considerably less smooth than they sounded in his head. 

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you. I like spending time with you. I miss you when you’re not there and my heart beats faster every time my phone beeps because I think it might be you. I can’t stop drawing you, Tony.” Steve licks his lips and barges on because Tony doesn’t interrupt at the pause. “And I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure you’d say yes, even though I did some research and found that you have danced with men before, but I… I was afraid I’d lose what we’ve built. But last night I almost lost you entirely, and I won’t wait any longer, so yes, Tony, I want to date you.”

A beat. “You did research?”

Steve frowns. “That’s the part you want to focus on?”

“I’m drugged, shut up.” Tony blushes, suddenly very interested in the seams of the hospital sheets. 

Banter to deflect, Steve thinks, his frown twisting into a tentative smirk. “I do know how to use Google, Tony.”

Yet if anything, the other man only colors more at that. “Oh yeah, my exploits have been well documented, playboy that I am…”

When Tony doesn’t say anything else, Steve takes another deep breath, wipes his hands again, and points out, “You haven’t given me an answer yet.”

“Answer?”

“You, me. A date. Maybe dinner.” _Really Rogers, it’s a mystery why you haven’t had a date since 1943…_ “We could go for coffee, too, if you’d prefer.”

Tony doesn’t reply and gradually Steve is really getting worried that he’s barking up the wrong tree after all.

“Tony, I’m sorry if I’ve misread this -”

“What! No!” Tony blurts and Steve’s heart is torn between sinking and beating faster, which seems to be showing in his expression because Tony adds, a little breathless, waving his hands, “I mean yes! Yes, of course, why wouldn’t I date you, seriously, how can that even be a question – though I didn’t expect it to even _be_ a question, so there’s that –”

“Breathe, please –”

“Uh, yeah, sorry. But yes. Dinner sounds amazing.” The smile Tony sends him is incredible and Steve wants to find every single way he can bring that expression back and try them out multiple times a day. 

He returns the smile in kind. “We’ll fix a date when you’re better.”

Tony sits up a bit more at that. “Better? I’m fine, Steve, splendid! We can go tonight –”

“Tony, the doctors said –”

“They don’t know I’ve got a date with you, who cares what they say –”

“I care what they say, they’re professionals and when they tell you that you can’t move out of this bed for the next week except for bathroom breaks because you might re-rupture your kidney and bleed to death, then you better listen!” Steve insists, grabbing Tony’s hand for emphasis. 

The expected protest doesn’t come because Tony is gaping at their overlapping hands. 

Steve begins to pull it back, mumbling an apology but one second later Tony snatches his hand back, enclosing it in both of his own. It feels nice, intimate somehow. Steve’s pulse quickens as he meets Tony’s eyes, still filled with surprise and wonder, across their hands. 

It doesn’t go any further than that because three seconds after they make eye contact there is a knock on the door and Steve reluctantly draws his hand back before Tony’s painkiller-heavy brain can react. 

“Ah, you’re awake!” Helen Cho greets them and the next half hour passes with tests and threatening Tony with restraints if he makes good on his promise to walk out of medical that afternoon. 

When she leaves, Steve is a little hesitant about getting close again but Tony simply turns up his palm and glances meaningfully at Steve’s hand. He strokes his thumb over the inside of Tony’s wrists until the man has fallen asleep again. 

Steve still has an hour until he has to get ready for the press conference (which translates to picking up his uniform from the in-house cleaners and change into it, then memorize the fact sheet SHIELD’s PR managers Trish O’Neil and Qamar Danton will undoubtedly hand him) and he spends it drawing. 

He sketches Tony, tracing the lines of his body and those of the hospital bed, then adds himself to the picture, bending down and placing a kiss on Tony’s sleep-smooth forehead. He leaves it with a note that explains about the conference and that he’ll be back as soon as he can manage, then mirrors his penciled self and kisses the place just below Tony’s hairline. His skin is soft and Steve’s eyes dart to his lips, but he refrains from actually making contact. 

He wants Tony to be an active participant for their first kiss – and every kiss after that. 

*

“Where is Nitro being held?”

“How are you containing him?”

“Is Mr. Stark alright?”

“Is it true one of the Avengers lost family?”

Sometimes, Steve hates press conferences. Most of the time he doesn’t mind; he learnt how to deal with crowds during the USO tour performances and their behavior hasn’t really changed that much in the past 70 years. 

Paparazzi are a different thing entirely – Steve absolutely loathes them, to be honest – but being the public speaker of the Avengers Initiative is less of a hardship he expected it to be. Well, if the reporters aren’t acting like squirrels on cocaine, or whatever the expression is. 

“Ladies, gentlemen,” he cautions, holding up a hand and the mob falls silent impressively fast. He might have walked out once in the initial phase back in May when the crowd just _would not quiet down_. Hill was angry because she had to issue a statement after all, but it taught the journalists their lesson.

“One question at a time. Catharine, could you repeat yours?” 

The Associated Press reporter has a contented gleam in her eye when she looks up at where Steve is standing at the podium. “Where is the criminal known as Nitro being held and how?”

“Most of that information is classified. We don’t want Hydra coming back for their sleeper agent, after all. I can assure you that he is somewhere secure and unable to explode at the moment. SHIELD is still trying to determine how to proceed from a legal standpoint, so I cannot give you any details on that.”

“Will the Avengers join the memorial gatherings in Nebraska or here in New York?” someone from the Times follows up. 

“Yes, we will. Those of our team who have emerged unscathed from last night’s attacks will attend and show their respect down in New York, but please do not turn that into publicity for us. A lot of families have lost loved ones yesterday and it’s nothing more than basic human decency for us to be there and show that their grief is being heard.”

The audience continues to pester him about the attack, the victims, reconstruction processes and Steve answers as honestly as he can without revealing any compromising information, like if the rumor about an Avengers losing a loved one is true or not. 

“There are already many who are calling for better preventive measures,” Nick Ruiz from the International Harold Tribune words the last question Steve grants those in attendance. “Would you say such measures are necessary and which form do you think they should have?”

Steve takes a sip of water to win some time to think about his response. 

“Preventive measures have a tendency to foster fear rather than security,” he says at last. “Given that they are just rumors ‘til now, I can’t really say anything definitive. Thank you for your attention.” 

*  
**_October 31st, 2015 – Nine days later_**

Tony slinks into the kitchen again, attempting to be covert about it but, well, he hasn’t been able to sneak into the kitchen when Matilda is manning (womanning?) it since he was a kid. 

“My boy, I swear I’m gonna leave the rest of the cooking to you an’ your date if you check on me one more time before I’m done!” she cusses at him without actually looking up from where she’s doing something culinary to a stack of pumpkin. 

“Sorry!” he yelps, feeling nine years old again when she literally caught him with his hand in the cookie jar (what? Matilda’s cookies are legendary, plus extremely rationed – everyone would’ve launched a covert op like that!).

Just as Tony is about to rush back into his bedroom, J.J. announces Rhodey’s presence at the door and two seconds after it opens, Rhodey is in Tony’s space, eyes wide with worry and hands on Tony’s robe-clad shoulders. 

“What’s wrong, Tones? Re-rupture your kidney? Why aren’t you dressed? Wait, what’s that smell -?”

“That’s Matilda’s special chicken-pumpkin casserole,” Tony explains, fully aware of how his voice is about an octave higher than usual, which is probably the reason why Rhodey’s expression of silent terror doesn’t relax. “And I’m not dressed ‘cos I got nothing to wear and I’m freaking out a little, and Pepper’s in L.A. so I can’t call her, never mind that it’d be awkward as hell if I did, so I texted you –”

“You texted me a nine-one-one, Tony, Jesus! That’s for bleeding out in a cave in Afghanistan, not for,” he hesitates, then does a clueless motion with his hand, “whatever’s going on here. What _is_ going on here, anyway? Why would it be awkward to call Pepper?”

Tony shrugs for lack of a better reaction, releasing a shaky breath and admitting in a rush, “I have a date.”

“A date?" Rhodey echoes, blinking rather stupidly. "You've been in medical these past nine days and I've seen you every single one of them, so either you failed to mention this or it just happened –” Rhodey stops, narrowing his eyes at the door behind Tony's right shoulder and he can determine the exact moment realization hits Rhodey by the way his expression betrays a hint of hurt. “You flew in Matilda from the tower kitchen staff, so there was some time to plan… Why didn't you say anything?” 

Tony gulps, flailing a little. “I didn't want to jinx it.” 

Rhodey takes a closer look at him and Tony can only guess what he looks like. He’s only wearing one of his red and gold silk robes (shut up, he’s an eccentric billionaire, he’s allowed), but it’s open near the neck down to his sternum so Rhodey has a good view of the scars from where the arc reactor used to be and an even better view of the newest addition to the ugly canvas of pain that’s been Tony’s skin for the last couple of years. His hair’s still damp from the shower Matilda ordered him to take, so he probably looks like a drowned cat on top of everything… 

Yet whatever Rhodey sees, he seems to gather enough to gather how really fucking nervous he is, no, strike that, how freaked out he is. So his best friend visibly forces himself to calm down and turn his frown into something more blank. 

"Who’s the date with, anyway?" 

Tony glances down at his bare toes. “Steve.” 

Frankly, he expected his best friend to gape a little, or to ask if he heard that correctly 'cos Tony just said that _Captain America_ is coming over for a date with Tony of all people which is a sentence that shouldn't actually exist and which Tony still has difficulties believing to be real instead of either a fever dream or Wanda’s way of apologizing for warping his mind a few months ago.

Rhodey, however, is actually smiling. Smiling like a cat that got the canary... if said canary is the fact that Tony is living every American's dream and having a date with Steve Rogers. A _date_. With _Steve_. 

“So he finally asked you out?”

_Wait, what?_

“He was pretty damn obvious, you know.”

_Obvious?_

“Tony, you're doing that thing again where you're talking out loud instead of thinking.”

“Sorry.”

Rhodey’s smile just widens. “’s alright. And I'm not surprised because I've seen the way Steve is with you. I was kinda waiting for him to make a move. So, judging from the nine-one-one, he asked you and now you've got no idea what to wear?”

Tony shakes his head immediately. “I mean, what do you even wear to a date with Captain America? A suit? Or jeans? Or shirt? What if I'm overdressed? Or God, underdressed?!”

“Let's go and look, alright?”

Tony trails after his best friend who leads the way to Tony's spacious closet filled to the brim with thousands dollars worth of clothes (which is considerably less than he's got in the tower and he didn’t even buy most of these clothes himself, come to think of it… prerogative of the billionaire, and all that) but still nothing jumps out at him because he needs to be _perfect_ today – who knows if he even gets another chance? 

Yeah, that's a big if, but a guy can dream, right? 

“I think Steve's the kind of guy who'll go for a nice pair of pants and a shirt, so why don't we go in a similar direction?” 

Tony shrugs, looking pointedly down the row of shirts that are hanging neatly on hangers to convey how overwhelmed he is. 

It takes them half an hour to chose a combination of pants and shirt, mostly because Tony has a reason, a very important reason okay, against every single one. Either they’re too stiff, too casual, too formal or just plain uncomfortable outside of stuffy galas. Eventually Rhodey's glare reaches an intensity that compels him to make a choice, and on an impulse he goes for a [polo shirt](http://40.media.tumblr.com/4287f85c3f86f3581f8af39375576450/tumblr_np2f9ifwkS1tcjckco2_500.jpg) in some sort of cerulean-grey blend and a pair of khakis. 

“You look good, stop tugging at it, Tones.”

He obeys but then has nothing left to do with his hand so he runs them through his hair until he realizes that it'll be too disheveled if he keeps doing it so he shoves them into the pockets of his pants, first in front then at the back - 

“Tony!”

“What?”

“Breathe, please.”

Once Tony has calmed down a bit Rhodey guides him down to sit on the bed. “You've known Steve for ages, just pretend it's just another time you hang out.” 

“We haven't _hung out_ , Rhodey, he's forced meals on me and kept an eye on me ‘cos Pepper asked him to probably ‘cos he was feeling bad about only pumping me for repairs and armor upgrades and now for some inexplicable reason he asked me to dinner and what the fuck am I even doing here? He's gonna see, Rhodey, then he's gonna leave." 

There is a slight pause before Rhodey answers and his voice sounds as if he’s trying to sound different than he’s feeling. 

“I don't know, man, Steve's a pretty stubborn guy.” When Tony doesn’t reply, he adds, “Come on, he likes you. You’ve got to believe that, at least. You're gonna have a great dinner with delicious food and it's gonna be awkward at first, sure, but you're a catch, Tony –”

Tony laughs. Out loud. 

“I'm a PTSD-riddled mess who almost destroyed the world, hasn't left his tower in months and now's got some very sexy scaring on his shoulder, next to the other very sexy scaring.” Tony buries his head in his hands. “I hide behind an armor and billions of dollars and sure, good ol’ Steve might be intrigued now but eventually he's gonna see that I'm not fit for consumption in higher dosages and leave. Why did I even agree to this?”

He can't look Rhodey in the eye for fear of what he's going to see there. Instead he inspects his by now sock-clad feet, twisting his hands in the duvet to keep them from ruining his hair before he even styled it.

On his left, Rhodey heaves a sigh that sounds more sad than exasperated. Tony can hear him swallow a few times and he’s probably opening his mouth just as often, though it takes a while before he says, “I wish you could see yourself the way your friends do, Tony. Just… give this a chance tonight, okay? Don’t make decisions for Steve before he even gets here. Promise?”

He finally gathers the courage to look up. Rhodey’s wearing a similar expression like he did when he dragged Tony out of his mansion after the whole mess with Obi, which means Rhodey’s damned serious right now. 

Tony exhales slowly. “I’ll do my best.” His best will never be good enough, but Rhodey’s just asking him to try, right? 

It earns him a bro-ish pat on the back that ends in a brief squeeze of his hand that’s so typically Rhodey that it soothes him a bit. 

“Let’s see what kind of shoes you’ve got.”

*

Steve shows up promptly at seven. 

The moment J.J. announces his presence finds Tony rearranging the cutlery on the table for a fifth time (which never takes long since all that’s on the table are two knives and two forks since laying it for dessert seemed too formal in Tony’s eyes). He practically flies to the door, then stops in his tracks to check his reflection in the display next to it. The screen flickers once, flashing a smiling emoticon at him and it takes a moment to realize that’s J.J.’s way of telling him he’s good. Which is oddly comforting, if he’s being honest.

When the door opens, Tony’s throat goes dry. 

He’s seen Steve in many, many different outfits, ranging from sweatpants and SHIELD-issued tees to more formal attire, to his incredibly accentuating Avengers uniform and – on one memorable occasion – in a fitted tux for a charity gala. He’s seen Steve looking like the all-American golden boy the media makes him out to be and like a fierce warrior with blood streaked across his face after a battle that’s hiding underneath he surface. 

Nothing prepared him for Steve Rogers in a [form-fitting, deep red henley](http://40.media.tumblr.com/45ab8a394e3574194e39e5a5e94de15a/tumblr_np2f9ifwkS1tcjckco1_1280.jpg) and very nice grey pants ending in sturdy brown boots, wearing a nervous smile and carrying flowers. Tony has no idea what he wants more – stare at the flowers or just watch the red fabric shift with the minute movements of Steve’s body for the rest of his life. 

“Uh, hi,” Steve offers a little breathlessly, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that’s not holding the – 

“Asiatic Lilies?” Tony blurts. 

Steve actually blushes and Tony has a brief moment to enjoy the fact that he is the cause of that before Steve clears his throat, smirking somewhat self-consciously. 

“You chose them for everything, if you have to – at least that’s what J.J. told me, so I figured they’re your favorites.”

“No one’s ever brought me flowers before,” Tony states stupidly, gripping the doorframe tighter ‘cos he has absolutely no idea what to do with his hands. Well, that at least seems to be a recurring motif tonight… 

Steve ducks his head. “I wanted to, and the internet said it’s okay to give men flowers now, even if that’s a little unusual. But I figured, what the hell, we’re pretty unusual people. Uh, here.”

Tony accepts the bouquet, appreciating the minimalistic arrangement of three vibrant Asian Lilies combined with greens, and his breath hitches when their fingers brush as the flowers pass from Steve to him. Their eyes meet and for a second all Tony can think about is fitting his lips over Steve’s own and never letting him go, but then the timer beeps and he’s ripped out of that particular daydream. 

He steps aside to let Steve in, pointing awkwardly at the kitchen and the flowers in the hopes it’ll convey the meaning of ‘I’m gonna get something to put them in’. Steve, however, seems fascinated by the oven. 

“You actually _cooked_?” 

“Of course! What did you expect, takeout?”

Steve shrugs. “I’m here for the company.”

Tony has no idea to respond to that, so he doesn’t. “Well, I didn’t actually _make_ it, ‘cos that’s a hellfire way to get even your superhuman metabolism to die of food poisoning… I asked Matilda to help out; she’s a cook at the tower.”

There’s a glint in Steve’s eye when Tony looks at him. “And you didn’t hurt herself?”

“Haha, make fun of the culinary illiterate who’s reduced to asking his betters, very nice. Not all of us can be good at everything.”

Tony finally locates a vase (alright, it’s not a vase; it’s a glass, but it’s a _big_ glass) for the flowers, fills it with water and places the combination on the kitchen island, then moves to open the oven only to find a pair of mitts wedged between the handle and the glass front – good thinking on Matilda’s part, Tony’s nervous enough that he would’ve reached inside and tried to get out the food with his bare hands. 

“So, uh, you wanna eat at the table, or here, or I’ve also got a balcony?”

Tony’s flailing is apparently enough to amuse Captain America, who fortunately doesn’t comment, just glances at the table and agrees to that. 

It’s awkward, just like Rhodey promised. The table’s small, only big enough for six, and Tony concedes the place at the head to Steve and takes the one on his left instead of at the other end. He wants to enjoy this as much as he can; this might be his only chance after all. 

So yeah, awkward silence reigns as Tony attempts to be a good host and cut the chicken-pumpkin casserole into movable pieces. He fails, needless to say, but Steve still seems content enough to stay. He even pours the water. 

“There’s wine as well,” Tony points out, nodding to where he placed one of his better bottles along with two glasses. 

Steve shrugs. “I can’t really feel the effect, and I’ve never been one for wine… “

“Beer?” Tony tries again. “I’ve seen a few brands in the fridge.”

“Sure. You?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

Right now Tony wishes he’d had enough foresight to down a glass of whisky or two before Steve showed up, just enough to calm his nerves and take the edge off, but Rhodey had stayed until ten minutes before Steve was due and then there was cutlery to rearrange and wine to find and a cook to promise a raise to… 

Steve returns with two bottles but without a bottle opener and Tony’s about to say something when Steve just takes off both caps with his hands, ‘cos, you know, who needs bottle openers? Or a hatchet for wood logs, for that matter? 

_Damn, that really shouldn’t be so hot._

But yeah, still awkward. They’re both at a loss for conversation openers by the looks of it, so they just sit down and try the casserole that Tony finally managed to disperse on plates (without much aesthetic value, but he’s really beyond caring right now). 

Steve takes one bite, then closes his eyes and makes a sound that Tony just needs J.J. to retrieve and save and replay late at night over and over again for, uh, _very important reasons gawd_ – 

“This is amazing.”

It’s too late to stop the heat rising in Tony’s cheeks, so he just powers through. “Yeah, Matilda’s a real gem. You should taste what she does with steak, but she decided that since it’s Halloween we should have something with pumpkin.”

“Does she work here? I’ve got to compliment her sometime.”

Tony shakes his head. “She’s in charge of the employee cafeteria at the tower. I lured her here with the promise of tickets to the opera.”

Steve’s eyes go soft at that. “You seem to know her well.”

He shrugs, shoving a piece of chicken from left to right with his fork. “She’s been working for my family for ages, first at the manor, then at the office after my parents – anyway. She even tried to teach me to cook before I went off to college, but had to face the truth that it’d give her less grey hair to just move to Michigan with me.”

“She didn’t, though?”

He chuckles at the thought. “Nope, but Rhodey was at least passable with anything more complicated than cereal, so it worked out alright.”

Steve makes to say something else but for some reason decides against it and instead eats another forkful of casserole. Awkward silence descends on them once again and Tony wrecks his brain for something to say, anything really. 

He’s usually really good at this, but ‘usually’ refers to a date with women, and even that hasn’t happened since Pepper agreed to take their relationship to the next level. Before that, however, Tony was a master of dating. He could wine and dine the models of this world with the best of them, show them a good time, be smooth and charming and get them out of their clothes just as fast as he’d get them out of his house the morning after or, alternatively, two weeks later. 

He’s never been on a date with a man, though. Sure, his exploits in his twenties with the less-fairer sex are very well documented in the tabloids, Tony’s never been shy or in the closeted (after Howard was gone, that is). But he’s never been on a date where he wanted to get the other person to like him back, not just dazzle them with his persona of Tony Stark, Playboy Extraordinaire. Pepper was different – she’d seen him at his best and worst and still stuck around. He knew he didn’t have to prove anything to her, just try his best to not fuck up entirely and hope she’d stay. She didn’t, which probably only exacerbates his current dilemma and he really needs to say something ‘cos Steve’s almost finished his first helping. 

“So tell me,” is what Tony settles on in a flash of panic, “is this your first date since 1945?”

He regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth but to his infinite relief, Steve blushes furiously, even the tips of his ears turn red and he licks his lips (a motion that Tony’s totally not tracking and committing to memory, no, sir), instead of scowling or looking offended. 

He glances away from where he met Tony’s gaze. “Uh, 1943, actually.”

“Seriously?” 

Tony internally cringes. _Yeah, right, remind Captain America of his lost loved ones some more, why don’t you._

“It was before they accepted me into the army. I don’t even remember who it was with, just that it was a double date that Bucky organized on his leave… The dame probably had to be convinced to go along with it, though, so I’m not sure that actually counts.”

“Wasn’t Natasha always on about setting you up with various SHIELD agents?” Tony asks ‘cos he’s curious and he’s already screwing this up, so he might as well go for broke. “You’re probably swimming in offers now, no convincing necessary.”

If anything, Steve’s blush deepens. “Yeah, but… I’ve never really wanted to date just for dating’s sake, you know?”

 _Unlike you_ , a voice adds in Tony’s head. “But what about all those chorus girls? I mean –” _abortabortabort_ “– sorry, ignore me.”

He goes back to his food, biting his lower lip to keep himself from blurting anything else, so he startles pretty obviously when there’s suddenly a hand on his wrist. Steve’s hand, specifically. On his wrist. Skin on skin. 

It takes every ounce of courage he can scrape off the bottom of the hardwood floor to lift his head and look at Steve who’s smiling indulgently. Maybe even fondly, though that’s probably just wishful thinking. 

“Tony, I don’t mind. I mean, it’s probably pretty pathetic that I – that my experience with dating’s so…. so limited.”

“How limited?” 

Jeez, Steve touching him is obviously one of the many ways to completely disable his brain-to-mouth filter. _Just go ahead and ask him if he’s a virgin, Stark, seriously, and then you can curl up in the bathroom and cry about how you blew your chance at dating the best man you’ve ever met._

Steve, though, for reasons that shall mystify Tony until the day he dies, only squeezes his hand before pulling his arm back and clears his throat. 

“Non existent. It just never… I mean, I _could_ have, but… It’s always been about the person for me, not the act.”

Okay, so now? Now Tony’s gaping. And he’s also pretty sure that he’s got actual hearts in his eyes because _of course_ Steve is the kind of guy who waits, unlike some people who lost their virginity to the first gold-digging starlet that crossed their paths at their parents’ annual Christmas gala when they were thirteen. 

“I know it’s old-fashioned, even was back in the thirties, at least where I grew up,” Steve explains after a long, long beat, and shit, Tony should say something ‘cos right now it probably looks like he’s silently judging Steve and nothing could be further from the truth. 

“I think it’s great.”

That earns him a chuckle. “Tony, you don’t need to placate me –”

“I’m not. I mean it. It’s… admirable. You’re a good man, Steve.”

Tony stabs a pumpkin cube before Steve can react or feel compelled to return the compliment, and for a couple of minutes there’s only the sound of knives and forks on plates and Steve takes another helping with that shrug that’s come to mean ‘the serum also improved my metabolism, sorry, but I’m hungry’ back when the Avengers shared meals regularly. 

The awkwardness returns for approximately two minutes, until Steve asks, “How are the specs for the new tablet coming along? You know, the ones you showed me yesterday before Hill called me away?”

Steve looks genuinely interested, so Tony’s off, taking to the opening like a parched man in a desert to a bottle of water. Because yes, Steve visited Tony almost daily during his stay in medical and let him ramble on about work, about stupid co-workers, about adjustments to the armor, about how great it felt to be flying again… His visits never were particularly long, given that Steve had a full plate as leader of the Avengers, and his input was required regarding Nitro, yet even fifteen minutes with Steve managed to put Tony in a better mood any drug could ever do (or has ever done, he can say from experience). 

So Tony dives into his deliberations regarding the new upgrade, feeling worlds better already and relishing the way Steve is actually listening and doesn’t have any qualms about interrupting when something goes over his head (which isn’t as often as people would think). 

He’s so deep in the flow that he only registers that Steve’s doing the dishes when a dishtowel hits him in the chest. He catches it, stopping mid-sentence, to blink at the other man who has soap bubbles on his bare forearms and his body angled towards the sink, so Tony has a great view of his shoulder-to-waist ratio, which is frankly just ridiculous. 

“Come on, you know where they belong.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it; I’m not sure I’ve ever used anything in this kitchen,” Tony quips but does as he is told. 

Conversation flows a lot more smoothly then, with Steve recounting how Tony’s latest training simulation upgrades are working out and Tony brainstorming with Steve about other possible improvements. At some point they migrate to the balcony with more beer and a plate of Matilda’s special pie that they’re balancing on the railing and eating without napkins or actual plates. 

Steve looks even better next to him out there, his face illuminated by the waning moon and the light emanating from the suite. Tony’s heart is in his throat, its beats a steady soundtrack to their laughter as they’re polishing off the pie like a bunch of frat boys. 

Come to think of it, at 27 (biologically) Steve’s still young enough to actually be one… Yeah, and Tony’s old enough to be his sugar daddy; that train of thought really isn’t helping his ego here. Although he kind of his sugar daddy, isn’t he? He’s paying his salary, his expenses – 

“I had a great time, Tony.”

He blinks back to reality where Steve is smiling at him, relaxed and seemingly content. 

“Me, too,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair ‘cos the plate’s empty and he can’t occupy himself with the pie anymore.

“I’d better go,” Steve continues, pushing himself off the railing and _wait don’t go what the hell_ – “It’s getting late.”

Tony moves without thinking (‘cos with a bit of thought he would have done this completely different) and shoots forward, stepping right to the edge of Steve’s space, his back dangerously close to the plate and the two forks. Tony angles his hips in a way that accentuates the lines of his body and plasters on a coy smile. Yeah, he knows… It’s reflex. He panicked. Sue him. 

“You sure you wanna go?” Tony drawls and Steve’s expression falls within the split of a second. 

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asks even though he knows exactly what Steve’s referring to. 

“Don’t front like that,” Steve practically growls, and it’d be insanely hot if Tony weren’t so damn confused. “You don’t need to put on a mask for me.”

“Well, then what do you want me to say?” Tony bursts, waving his arms and almost tripping over the plate if it weren’t for Steve’s super soldier reflexes that allow him to catch it and set it on the floor before it can shatter, all while Tony’s having his little breakdown. “’Cos I’ve got nothing. I’m a little outta my depth here, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I don’t want you to try to impress me, Tony. You’ve already done that often enough in the past, alright?”

At that Tony’s eyebrows are climbing towards his hairline. “Was it my stellar coping mechanisms that dazzled you or the near panic attack in the car in front of the Indian restaurant last week?” 

Steve, however, doesn’t rise to the bait. “You don’t need to pretend, Tony, is what I mean.”

“Really? ‘Cos not pretending led to this spectacular train wreck and I wanted so hard not to screw this up –”

“What makes you think you screwed this up?” Steve echoes, looking genuinely confused, his brow furrowed. 

Tony deflates a little and gives a one-sided shrug. “You’re leaving.” 

For some inexplicable reason, though, Steve’s expression smoothens over, his eyes growing warm (if eyes can do that, well, outside of fever spells, that is). 

Steve takes a step towards him and his heart is back in his throat, making it a little difficult to breathe. Steve is close enough for Tony to smell his cologne, something superficially sweet but with a layer of spice underneath. 

“I’m leaving because I want to do this right, Tony. Take it slow. I want you to walk me to the door; I want to kiss you goodnight and then ask when we can meet again. Because I want to do this again, just so we’re clear. Just… I’m not ready for… I hope that’s fine, but I’d understand if –”

“What, why, of course it’s fine!” Tony insists as soon as his brain catches up with what Steve’s saying. “More than fine!” He breathes out heavily. “So you wanna take this slow? I can do slow. I can do glacial, even. Snail pace. Turtle-slow. Well, although the latter can actually be pretty fast if they want to, have you seen them sprint ‘cos – umph…”

He’s being kissed. There are lips on his, soft but strong and definitely male, because they’re Steve’s lips. 

_Steve_ is kissing him. 

Steve is _kissing_ him and Tony’s brain has melted, so he’s unresponsive for all of two seconds which makes Steve draw back but no, no, over Tony’s dead body. He grabs the front of Steve’s henley and pulls him back, fitting their lips together and this time he’s an actual active participant. 

Maybe not for too long, though, because kissing Steve? Dizzying. Also detrimental to Tony’s sense of balance as evidenced by his trembling knees. Steve kisses like he’s drowning and simultaneously like he’s got all the time in the world, long presses of his lips against Tony’s combined with greedy swipes of his tongue that take his breath away and he has to wind his hands around Steve’s neck to hold himself upright. 

Steve’s hands find his hips where they do nothing more but hold him steady and already the touch is burning through the fabric of his polo shirt and pants. Tony yearns to press their bodies together, the thought that Steve might mirror his own arousal is heady and tempting but Tony does listen, especially in bed, and going slow does definitely not include dry-humping on the first date by anyone’s definition. 

So he deepens the kiss, swept up in the heat of it all that he doesn’t even filter the whimpers and little moans that escape him. 

Steve is the one to pull back, his lips bruised, eyes dark and breath ragged. Tony feels insanely proud and even more turned on by the sight, but he lets Steve put a step between them. Neither of them pulls back their hands, however. 

For a moment they just look at each other, and if Tony ever invents a machine that freezes moments forever, this would be the first one on his list. 

It’s getting harder to keep his hands from roaming Steve’s body when he’s so close and his hands are already on his neck, fingers stroking lazy circles into his nape, which is why Tony swallows thickly. He doesn’t miss how Steve’s eyes track the movement of his adam’s apple and what was Tony about to do again? Oh yeah… 

“You said something about me walking you to the door, earlier?”

He gets a smile, wide and blinding, in return. It looks like it’s a struggle when Steve eventually lets go of Tony’s hips and he feels their absence immediately. Tony makes good on his word, though, and accompanies him the ten or fifteen meters to the door of his suite, where Steve pauses with his hand on the doorknob, then turns around and crowds Tony against a patch of wall next to the coat rack. 

Only their upper bodies are touching and it’s already too much. Steve is a wall of solid muscle and he’s using it to press Tony into the wall, not too firmly but just enough to send a shiver down his spine. 

“Steve,” Tony has to gasp when they break for air, “if you’re insisting on going slow, you’d better stop ‘cos I’m three seconds from dropping to my knees and sucking you dry, I swear.”

A groan is his only answer, along with Steve burring his face in Tony’s shoulder. He does, however, stop a moment later, stepping back with an apologetic look that is at odds with the color in his cheeks and his kiss-bruised lips. 

“I apologize.”

“Buddy, don’t ever apologize for that, I mean, damn…” Tony tries pathetically to catch his breath and clear his head a bit. “Uh, second date?”

Yeah, eloquence went right out the window after self-doubt and the ability to stand upright without a wall for support. 

Steve’s smile is blinding and so sincere that Tony’s heart stutters at the sight. 

“I’d love to. How about we go see a movie?”

“Sure, I’ve got a theater at the tower or we’ll block the one here –”

But Steve’s shaking his head. “I meant, to a real cinema. You took care of food tonight, so I’d like to invite you to a show. I’ll come down to pick you up from the tower.”

On his motorcycle, seems to be the implied addendum and Tony quickly imagines riding on the back of the bike with his hands wrapped around Steve and he thinks he might come in his pants any second now. 

“Yeah, sounds great,” he stammers, forcing his brain to remember his schedule for the next few days. “Wednesday okay? Or Thursday?”

“Thursday,” Steve agrees after a beat. “I look forward to it.”

“Me, too. And I’m letting you chose the movie, which is a big show of faith on my part, so don’t disappoint me with some strange art house crap, you hear me?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve shoots back immediately, then leans down to bring their lips together one more time before he actually opens the door and steps out of the suite. 

Tony watches him walk off, allowing himself to take in the beautiful view (‘cos he’s allowed now, isn’t he?), until Steve turns around with a smirk. 

Thursday really can’t come fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … and that’s it for part I! I know a case can be made for sexually-experienced!Steve, which is nine shades of hot, seriously, but my personal preference is virgin!Steve to contrast with Tony’s more forward nature. 
> 
> Part II will bring more dating, a higher rating due to sexual content (*winks*), more from Bruce, Bucky and Pietro, as well as the fallout from Nitro’s attack and Laura’s death. This verse isn’t called “Road To War” for nothing, after all, but I promise all is going to end well – eventually.  
> EDIT-17/08/2015: part II is imminent! This is not a drill :) Hold onto something, folks... 
> 
> Finally the biggest **THANK YOU** to all of you who have cheered me on in the past weeks. You guys are awesome! Please don’t hesitate to let me know what you thought of the finale, though – feedback will definitely help part II come along more quickly :)
> 
> PS: If any of you feel inspired to do art or a translation, you’re very, very welcome to! Just let me know so I can link to it :)


End file.
